you tried to
freeze
fire, for the sake of
being something.
you walked,
barefoot and
raw, on roads of newspaper
clippings, telling
yourself that you were
trying to become a
memory.
seasons change.
the tawny
warmth that you
once loved was hustled
away with the
bitter autumn breeze,
leaving you with
blue toes and xylems as a
substitute for
eyelashes. where you
once had a shelter
underneath phototropic
lilies, you now
lie and drape yourself in
frayed string
theories.
i guess you
always knew that
someday all those
badly rolled
cigarettes and whiskey voice
chords would come
back to haunt you,
someday. inebriated
promises, dedications,
swearing to be,
forever. hovering,
twitching, under the
guise of
yellowing smoke, husk
descends on your
synapses, making your
stop-motion smiles
flicker older.
change isn’t an option anymore.
Author notes
prompt; the decemberists - here I dreamt I was an architect.
the video mainly, the way his voice sounded too.
♥
A contest entry
- here I dreamt I was an architect. by etoile.
2825 points, ended August 20, 13 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
oh wow, this is brilliant. the imagery and ideas in this poem are beautiful. I love the second last stanza (not including the one word line) the one that starts with 'seasons change' it's brilliant.
goodluck and thanks for entering
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holy damn. that first stanza.
mind blowing much?
and the second is just like i've died and went to imagery heaven. it is hesitant yet just so ethereally beautiful.
seasons change.
the tawny
warmth that you
once loved was hustled
-i'd probably seperate the first line from the rest of it. by seperating it the effect is just more concise and doesn't ramble together.
frayed string
theories
=
love
last line is just freaking wow.
-
-
thank you :]
and as for that line, i'm definitely taking your advice, it reads so much better.
thank you =]
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