sometimes sundays.... are too quiet its silence brings an uneasiness that starts in my chest, rapidly spreading with viral speed movement so quick that it overtakes soul with one stealthy swoop wonderment of whys and wheres fill minds spaces until my ears bleed out the questions im afraid to ask heart cowers behind chests wall that was built with lies cemented with broken promises hands massage temples formed into pyramids that were structured to house the riches and my dead sometimes sundays.... bury so deep beneath the sands of ancient desserts memories no water for life yet they live, mummified in horrific poses behind my eyes and even though you come to resurrect their history those memories soft archeological brush strokes as to not disturb their resting place your quest is a dichotomy because you continue to dig for *historys sake* and eye continually fight to cover the relics of past with my monuments hiding wounds from wars you know nothing about *yet* so...you dig, disturb and conjure my pain in dust and tiny little pieces showcased as a treasure eye....bury covering all those who broke and wounded my spirits in sacred sands youre so intent upon disturbing sometimes sundays..... #spitpoet
Posted on: Sun, 28 Sep 2014 17:30:45 +0000
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