I crawled out of bed
with the memory
of two vague
masterpieces
lost in the
untraceable steps
of a dream´s
footprints
between
the snap
of a finger
and an evanescent
woebegone morning
Fragments of sweat-stained air
guitar strings notebooks
and prose-like voices
choking every last person
as it bled and squeezed
through every swirling nook
Now as the sun rises
I reach for you frantically
somewhere within an arms length
of my out-stretched hands
in the abstract illusion
driving me forward
But I fall back into a purple silken pillow
with a throat full of cotton
a headache, resigned pain
pulsing through my veins
and the epitaph
of two lost poems
that made me
think about you
That provokes me to
spit lyrical theories
mystical words
and unwritten destinies
Awesome poem. I think everyone reading this knows what you're talking about and I have no doubts you could have had brilliant poems posted. It's funny how those things happen. I tried putting a tape recorder next to my bed in case I got something but It sounded like a drunk with torn throat and a crummy poem. LOL
Ah that feeling of loss, we've all had it when a masterpiece is just within our grasp, the words are theoretically there but putting them down when we are ready becomes a task...
I've been having a lot of this lately and you really sneaked into my head with this:
"But I fall back into
a purple silken pillow
with a throat full of cotton
a headache, resigned pain
pulsing through my veins
and the epitaph
of two lost poems
that made me
think about you"
I like how you took the poem from a normal standpoint right in to desire. No matter what the desire is...as the sun rises you reach frantically as if dreaming. Interesting! I like you use of vocabulary too. Good job!
i know that feeling, when we want to remember all those twilight gems, so near and yet so far. That second stanza seemed to be the images you managed to retain, it was very deep in its angst to escape the dreary conventions, I could feel the straining to catch that teasing elusive beauty. It is true, the best things are forgotten before they're ever written, and very annoying. Thankyou.
Wow, very clever and really well written. I can't exactly point out why I liked this, but the first lines took a hold of me and didnt let me go. Nicely done.
Loved this :The best poems are forgotten before their ever written
HAD MY BABY BOY 12/29/2013 at 10:57 he weighs 8 pounds 4oz 19 in long
I am married to a fellow poet on this site http://www.writerscafe.org/itz_JuggZ aka Stevo The Poe-t
I cant sleep without kno.. more..