Tag Archives: dreams and fantasies

Bright Colors

They want you in black and ashen finery, the harsh angel.

               I prefer you in bright colors, the girl next door, an autumn day.

               The pictures of you laughing as the leaves fall around you,

               And you seem joyous and full of warmth the sun is putting away.

 

               All the pictures in a folder, the autumn dreamer, the summer lover,

               The winter sweetheart, the springtime saint, all the brightness freely given.

               Unlike the faces you procure to perform and cut throats and rule in movies.

               Unlike the reaper of blood and damnation the other so fervently adore.

 

               A dream, unmade in its casting, the tenderness that is a shard in my heart.

               You and me and a happy world, silly movies and domestic happiness

               And soft and mischievous love making, and talks into the night,

               Sad songs and cuddling and so many bottles of red wine.

 

               I don’t want the demoness. I want the girl.

               But neither is real. All our faces are dreams.

               All eyes see are mirages and not the sainted sun.

 

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The Stars of Paradise

I’ve been lost for years, dreaming, but not making it through.

               The stars of paradise, their light and warmth, from you I drew.

               The cold days are spring like, and there’s no silence in winter rain.

               I look at pictures, blue bikini, red wine, on holiday in coastal Spain.

 

               I try to conjure a phantom, a sense ghost, trick my skin to thin you’re here.

               That lovely one, in a crystal palace, queen of the moon, my bitter souvenir.

               Try to trick my lips to think it’s your kisses, not my own fingers running over them.

               Angels’ light can be so cruel, shining for only a moments, it’s daylight so very slim.

 

               All the people here are ghosts, maybe demons, or just not a bell rung by my voice.

               I dream of downloading all your movies, take a train to New Orleans, blasphemy rejoice!

               I try to conjure you, or a chimera that will dance with me, make me think it’s so real,

               In the videos and pictures and silly fantasies written in fan fiction, but truth will repeal.

              

Ellie, An Angel

Ellie, an angel, I dream.

               Heartbroken ballads, sung by women.

               Look at all her pictures, wish she sang.

               A light, like a star on a Christmas tree.

 

               The pictures, I build a kingdom.

               Of things we do in the dreams I make.

               She loves me, and she doesn’t burn.

               Crystal Palaces we explore for wonders.

 

               A green meadow, summer morning.

               Her head on my shoulder, sharing red wine.

               We’ll know every galaxy by this afternoon.

               She’ll kiss me for the first time, in the sky.

 

               Ellie, an angel, a dream.

               Silent in the world, I go to her alone.

               The sad songs invite her from paradise.

               And I have a light, but not Christmas trees.

Touching The Stars

All these castles of alabaster and stone, touching the stars.

               All those monuments to her grace and beauty, rival the sun.

               All these gardens and rivers cold and deep and full of darkness.

 

               The sweet dreams of kisses as our feet left from the earth forever.

               Of seeing her wings open, her become light, and not just hurting flesh.

               Of knowing that this summer night is forever, and we are one in heaven.

 

               The visions of crystal palaces and lurid galaxies and romantic tenderness.

               In my head that put on the page, my tribute to all her wonder and love,

               Echoes of all the adventures I wish we could have, in some far away sky.

 

               They are just stories to her, stories she loves when I show them to her,

               And praises my talents and the visions I can show her inside her mind,

               But I can never tell her, that they are the bricks of the temple of my devotion

 

               The dreams of the things I wish we could say and do and be, forever.

Dead People Don’t Give You Any Shit

Here in the paths and and avenues of the departed,

where nature and loss are united and wed,

I pass lonely hours, not wanting to go home.

 

Under the spread open branches of an oak tree,

I listen to sad lamentations of all life takes,

the sad songs on my headphones that soothe me.

 

All is quiet as September turns to October

and the leaves fall and the air grows cold, still.

I can dream the satin veiled dream of my loneliness.

 

No one follows me here. I may as well draw the veil.

And I’ll be here until the stars wink out of a bled pink sky.

This place is safe for me, only ghosts call my name here.