in silver streams of partial consciousness.
the day doesn't rise, but rather treads.
eyes and nose just above the surface of an immense expanse of sinking darkness.
in the pauses which dictate the moments to surround them.
memory filters in such a way that lovers are loves.
and strangers again friends.
in the almost clear mind that frets with an infant day crying in its arms.
it's easy to disguise.
to confuse.
whose screams are whose.
to wake up. not to embrace, but to take hold of it nevertheless.
because it's dropped into your arms.
pieces at a time.
and as fragile as you feel, it's much more fragile yet.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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Well indeed that is a fragile mourning. Lets hope that in time when you arise that the day goes great despite bad feelings that want to surface.
I do have a few suggestions, and corrections. If you would like to know what they are feel free to IM me
Kari
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I love it
I love you
You cannot fix what doesnt want to be fixed.
Even though you are prolly over it by now
I love you
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"in silver streams of partial consciousness.
the day doesn't rise, but rather treads."
-intrigueing lines, they draw you in, make you want to read the rest. excellent word usage, very well written.
-lys
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It's great. I still love your writes. Almost breaks my heart....
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awww sad but i like, great job! <3 u keep up the good work!
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awww. i love this poem. another great write.
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