Cycle of the Cycle

its a version of a cycle, which dips back on itself, rotating everywhere - always. the end.

The sky is mourning

And I am dancing

The song goes on.

 

Rain is leaving, is etching

Its place in time

To find what it so desperate - wants.

 

Yet I sink and toil

And I bend and break.

 

The fluidity of me is wooden,

Is crumbling in the sun.

 

Sun, burning, me on heaves

The way out is the way out,

Unknown to me. Unbecoming of me.

 

Will I still be clean after a week

Of this disease that screams at me for the tube

And the infinite words upon the flickering screen?

 

Ah, ah, ah – aha!

This is just my space. Its only mine

While I am, till I am not.

 

When I am gone, this space will revolt

Return and glow.

Just black words on white paper – here and now.

 

Yet – heard.

Reviews

[Lola Nation]

nice word leaping -- I kind of felt like reading it was jumpin' from rock to rock to get to the other side.