This Place
This place-
Fear in my fingertips,
As I begin to waste away.
My dreams leaking through the cracks
To the distant chimes of a lonely mind.
I swallow constantly but my throat is dry.
So long my nails have clawed this earth
Trying to hold on,
That the dirt has dried and caked on my palms.
It seemed a part of me
But I am told it's not so.
From this place I see you again.
Through the shadows of this mocking age
I can see the twilight of your eyes
So I smile
And blow the dust away.
-Pete-
Fear in my fingertips,
As I begin to waste away.
My dreams leaking through the cracks
To the distant chimes of a lonely mind.
I swallow constantly but my throat is dry.
So long my nails have clawed this earth
Trying to hold on,
That the dirt has dried and caked on my palms.
It seemed a part of me
But I am told it's not so.
From this place I see you again.
Through the shadows of this mocking age
I can see the twilight of your eyes
So I smile
And blow the dust away.
-Pete-
posted by -Pete- at 10:25 p.m.
1 Comments:
I like the image of nails clawing the earth in this poem, perhaps holding on but also digging for something: truth, meaning, comfort, or something else.
Thanks for dropping by my blog. I think it is very wise of you to keep all of your art intact. It will show you later who you were, as our art shows us now who we are. I do have a few things left from my childhood. I find them difficult to look at, but I do pull them our every now and then.
Good luck with your photography. If you want to do it, you should go for it with everything you have and with no regrets.
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