When Everything is Fine is Only Said in Shame

The passing strokes of my heart remain
on the canvas of the world.  
Waves of love watch
as it paints an ambitious mirage,
faintly touching the realms of comfort.

Where does the beginning of dreams blow?
to the west or the north
Today’s pain seeps upon the seconds
and I breathe a sigh
into the winds of happiness and warmth.

The small things, once again, float
into unlit frames
that looks into your eyes
and then the worlds.
While our spirits refrain from wishing lies
were not deliberately told.

Light swears it is hungry
and doesn’t know
it is flickering like a faithful poem,
pushing to speak out
about itself.
Traveling along with truth
that has been tossing stones.

Lyrics say I love you
and then cry to the back of guilt
because it stared at you in a sense of wonder
when they were wrote.
In an atmosphere
without meter or rhyme.

The taste of a glimpse of wings
leaves painted lips
dancing in the flames.  
Unbound memories are more than we know
when everything is fine
is only said in shame.

Author's Note

Artist*Michael Cheval

Reviews

[Cassie Fraga]

ooooh Neva a very nice write... such talent in that pen of yours... grasped my minds eye from the start!! thank you for sharing!! = )

**The taste of a glimpse of wings
leaves painted lips
dancing in the flames.
Unbound memories are more than we know
when everything is fine
is only said in shame.** ((Neva Flores - Changefulstorm))

BRILLIANT!!

[Art Sun]

if that word hasn't been invented yet ...I am sure you will find it and write a new language for the world Neva...your pen has no limits...love this work...

[Audrey Howitt]

I guess I agree with some of what is written below--your heart just keeps flowing outward with the beauty of your your work-- and the shimmer of it blesses us all.

[Kaylor Mason]

Ya know, I think you may have founded a new genre of poetry: the kind where everything flows outward with no set rhyme or cadence, where all ideas, images and emotions swirl around each other and even when the poem is ended, the meaning is sublime and the theme is defined--but not definable in the conventional sense. It's like a more primordial form of writing, listening to the spirit murmur things in a person's thoughts and feelings, and that person can't even express the words. You ought to think up an official name for your writing style in poetry, ma'am: it literally is that unique! :)

[Zeitgeist Manifesto]

This is truly special. The heart at work giving birth to such beauty was amazing imagery. It's a shame that the majestic sights moved farther away..the closer I got to them. The pain that was bearable weighs down until it forces you to your knees. I had to think about how hurtful it is to be at war with the one's closest to us. Is it the impact of the blows or simply the fact that they could strike that hurts so much. I wondered where the magic went. I had to wonder how much hope still existed for those who haven't completely given up.

[Muse]

this is cool.
Just when I think you've done it all...you come up with something new.

Light swears it is hungry
and doesn’t know

I luv this!