Tuesday, January 19, 2010

A poem of strange rhyme, simply killing time

Three thirty eight in the morning. I should be busy. No, I should be asleep. Just like a secret I would keep. Three thirty eight in the morning and I am fully awake, for goodness sake! Head screaming thoughts that should not be. The voices there that trouble me. Outside I can hear the snow falling off the rooftops, shhh shhh shhh. After what has felt like forever, it is finally done but now the time of limbo awaits and an amends none. Spring has still far days to show its face and I must stay in waiting. Trapped in a wonder of time and space. Three forty and the minutes do not take pity. Time does not stop for me as I would wish it so. Nothing there still or where to go. In a state of blindness and the dull, all my head can think is thoughts distant and wide. Leaving me there with no where to hide. Ignoring the pretty pink or even the logical white, all that is left is bright bright bright. So bright your eyes could just pop. So full and consuming the world turns not. And I lose myself once again. Everything now, almost the same. All I ever care for is to spin down the path of this demon I love. Of life, love and lust. Not that I want, but that I must. The craving, the hunt. The emptiness and the amazement of it all. The glorious high and the furious fall. The blur, the rush. All of it so much and so strong only to dissapear with the sun rise. As a new day will come, the every day events take over from the moonlight callings and love must wait, rutine must take over. Only the howls and the goblins know. And they will tell. Three fifty one and the clock ticks no mercy. I look at myself in thy mirror round and see no one there. It is far too late. Not a thought left, not a care. Three fifty three and there it's just me. Though different still, due surely to the storm within. The thoughts a violent spin. Three fifty seven. Three fifty eight. All I need is time, I stop to think, or is it too late? Yet time is all that we do not have. Time always slipping, fleeting moments that never seem to last. All my thoughts now stuck in my past. Fifty nine with a minute to waste. Four a.m. and killing the night in haste. The moon hidden with stars not shining, my mind now blank and terifying. Four o'two and a white flag, the numbers flying about in chaos and giddy glee, yet time has come to capture me. The wizards of dreams and sleep, even they shall have a place. If only for a little taste..

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

It is certainly interesting for me to read that post. Thank you for it. I like such topics and everything connected to them. BTW, try to add some pics :).