Showing posts with label influenced by Faulkner. Show all posts
Showing posts with label influenced by Faulkner. Show all posts

Monday, December 1, 2014

Strange is the Night

Strange is the night, through skies stranger still. 
Where the song of my soul, seeks the right words to fill.
Pictures of conversation, burning and curious.
Where the silence is deafening, and the love most furious.

Where I find myself before falling down,
On my knees beneath the shape of sound,
Where I find myself before falling  down,
With dirty hands clutching cold, cold ground.

And strange is this life, and my love stranger still.
What are the words I believed ? What is the math I can feel?
Blisters on my tongue, and the faint taste of blood.
To sink or to swim? Or be swallowed by the flood?

Strange are the clouds, holding fast the tears of God.
Where the labors of men , never count for a lot.
And you found me where I'd fallen, on my knees still crying out.
And you found me where I'd fallen, and the words kept spilling out.


So is my own head my own to bow ?
Are my own thoughts my own to say aloud?
So is my own head my own to bow?
And are my own thoughts my own to say aloud?

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

To Restrain True Sorrow

Suffering exists
Not in contrived TV commercials
That swell with emotional music
And bloat the compassionate ego
Suffering exists
In the heart closest to yours
Where pains are locked up tight
Like a secret inheritance
Suffering exists
Caused by the withheld smile
The forced conversation
Naked words of obligatory sympathy
Suffering exists
To mock good intentions
To restrain true sorrow
To hold out hope just beyond your grasp
Suffering exists
In the quietest places of the soul
In the unacknowledged doubt
In the monotony of disconnected labors
As so we suffer
To avoid the embrace of our sorrow
To subvert what we would do...
To slaughter the human will
We suffer ourselves
We suffer our lives
We suffer our illusions of both
And hold our breath
Unless a delicate sigh once released
Should topple this house of cards
And lay bare the wounds
Inflicted by the tick of the clock
The shaky foundations of our world
Carefully insulating us
From the madness of reality
Yes, suffering exists
But don't tell anyone.