I found this poem today that I wrote in church a few months ago. It was inspired by the stained glass window. It pertains to TPoF (Matt's pov). Figures.
And the "you" in this is God/the Voice. Just sayin'.
Silent sound in vibrant weather
Voices singing melodies of color
Gold changing to what it can be
Why is it crimson bathing me?
It knows whose blood is on my hands
The hands bound with diamond bands
The scarlet of a heart waiting to love
I guess years of pretending weren't enough
One step to the side brings me inside the blue
It tells me that there's nothing I can do
Blue like the ocean that soars down deep
And closes over my head when I go to sleep
Absorbed by my skin is the light of green
The evil of man that makes up my being
You say I'm not made of dark but of light
But when I look inside I'm lost in night
Orange hits my eyes with searing bright fire
It's the flames that burn and make me a liar
Eating the edges of my strength to survive
I need your hand to help keep me alive
And then glorious and pure blinding white
Fills every corner with its wide purging light
You tell me you're here to help me get by
And give me your love for the rest of my life
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
two days in a row...i'm on a roll
Toneless black words, nothing but pixels
Empty cold air from the depths of a stone heart
Endlessly swirling in a vortex of hollow promise
"I care"
Formations of sounds to just be ignored
They're worth less than the whistling wind itself
A whisper, a yell, it's all just the same
"I'll work on it"
No point in speaking if it will be only that
One word after another in a stream of dead breath
Better not to shout what you will never become
"It matters how you feel"
It never matters that I mean what I say
To everyone else it's all just the same
As the intangible promises they lock in for good
"I always try to do what I should"
Empty cold air from the depths of a stone heart
Endlessly swirling in a vortex of hollow promise
"I care"
Formations of sounds to just be ignored
They're worth less than the whistling wind itself
A whisper, a yell, it's all just the same
"I'll work on it"
No point in speaking if it will be only that
One word after another in a stream of dead breath
Better not to shout what you will never become
"It matters how you feel"
It never matters that I mean what I say
To everyone else it's all just the same
As the intangible promises they lock in for good
"I always try to do what I should"
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
A Life of Basket Weaving
We all struggle with the knots we tie with ourselves in the midst of it all
Tangled irreversibly with the life we've made on our own, for our own
We can never remember the steps we took as we weaved those threads
The complex network of strings that is our lives unwinding on the spool
The tighter the strings are pulled, the stronger the knot becomes, and small
Sometimes so tiny that we don't even realize it lives out its existence
Until that one pivotal moment when all the strings choke on the tension
And we frantically scramble to undo what will never be done
A sharp edge biting, our perfect alibi for what never happened
One brush against the taut thread that trembles with regret
SNAP
The line of thought is broken but the frayed ends still remain
Tangled irreversibly with the life we've made on our own, for our own
We can never remember the steps we took as we weaved those threads
The complex network of strings that is our lives unwinding on the spool
The tighter the strings are pulled, the stronger the knot becomes, and small
Sometimes so tiny that we don't even realize it lives out its existence
Until that one pivotal moment when all the strings choke on the tension
And we frantically scramble to undo what will never be done
A sharp edge biting, our perfect alibi for what never happened
One brush against the taut thread that trembles with regret
SNAP
The line of thought is broken but the frayed ends still remain
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