I clung to the substance
of things
lost in illusions
that could never be
strummed rib cage with bare bone sentiments
searched on street corners of hope
sweet cycles of love
rotate
pressed between fingers
of private pleasure
pinned against reality
as ink collides; weeping colors
words never go away…
they hide, seeking an exit
from lips that quiver
lost in everyday poetry
painted pictures interact with pretty colors
…illusions that mingle in the mind
pretending behind hungry bones
as art moves us in ways the mind can only imagine
angels weep behind the sun
and I finally find myself
a pale shade of existence
starved for a mere crumb
…bent
a bit broken
but still
able to touch love
7/14/08
Silver trophy winner
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