The-World-Is-Bored

Around them shades are waiting With dimmer, lesser hues Engulfing as the seasons glide Though still their roots pose shoes -To take a walk in others And feel the breeze, or pain Brace their wild unending storm And fight their hurricane Would the tree grow taller? And shield its kin from hurt Or could the bark fall weaker still Drain colour to the dirt Perhaps the leaf has fallen -The penny down the well But still the wood is ignorant As far as I can tell.

Some days I walk to mundane planes, And taste with narrow tongue, The colours stretch from hue to hue, The shapes amass as one, With you I see as if for once, True life, within my scope, And with your arms around me I feel love but also, hope So find me in this foggy moore, And pin my hand to yours, Lead me to your open mouth, From which my life’s blood pours.

Slumber, but, in many forms, Will crawl to open space, And walking, talking, feeding into that which shapes to face. The bee can’t find the nectar, Sans spectrum and the sting, A robin beak is empty for there’s not a song to sing. A ship without a sail or mast, Adrift upon the fates, Will become one within the sea as life itself abates. Silence is the absence, Space the wholesome black For once you let the fire die it’s hard to burn it back. Slumber, then, throughout the day, Intensity forgot, They pass as breathes through these numb lips as feeling, I cannot.

what am I to be a calm mountain or stormy sea ? what am I to hear whispers of the forest or prophecy of the seer ? what am I to look for the enchanted stars or the stones on the ocean bed what am I to find the god that rests within or a staff for the blind ? what am I to write my thoughts and struggles or dreams so bright ?

I sleep upon numb hands and momentary flutters Only to wake to my loss of interest

I don't need to self-abandon To chase some dream of peace with you. You will find your peace At your own pace, or not. I will never know peace, Unless I stop running And sit here, alone, with me.

i have been comparing myself to other girls as if we are not all gemstones as if we are not all opals refracting the already vibrant light and splitting it, with atomic axes, into its rawest form, into its seven shades throwing them upon the floor and up the trunks of trees like violet vines or emerald hands we are all prisms, we are not the spectrum, no, we are its master we are unbound by space, or time, or color we are the purity that offers both warmth and frigidity, both scarlet and fever, both blue and black, both heart throb and heart attack we are the electricity traveling to your head along the river of your back i have been comparing myself to other girls as if we are not all otherworldly as if we are not all from different galaxies forged from stardust, from clusters of nebulas, from the dark matter lacing the constellations, from lacerations in existence, from wormholes those timeless cervixes where seconds are stretched like taffy like superlatives in the back of a