Thursday, August 7, 2014
...and that is the truth.
Welcome to Throwback Thursday here at The Oracular Beard!
Was feeling frisky just now, so I figured I'd dig through my old Facebook notes and post this instead of a picture.
This is a song directly after a break-up (two months or so) to the point where I was moving on, I think. There're some themes that have traveled to other songs and poems, but I like this. I don't recall writing it.
As an added bonus, there're some Dark Tower references here.
Enjoy!
glad to be a part of something bigger
when all I can think of is myself
I would like to stop thinking of her
but I'm accustomed to this hell
flames lapping up about my feet
as she pours on gasoline
how I tied myself so tight to this tree
no wonder I cannot be free
oh how the fire it keeps on burning
oh unto a crispy black
all these things I should be learning
if I could only have her back
all the while I've been plotting
how I can triumph from this test
all these hecklers are a'watching
as I dance the dance of death
throw upon those useless branches
as smoky 'membrances rise higher
there go my bridges with my chances
as my vision's growing tired.
oh how the fire it keeps on burning
oh unto a crispy black
all these things I should be learning
if I could only have her back
calling out across the courtyard
calling out across the square
as my breath escapes me so hard
calling up into the air
someday soon I shall be born again
like a phoenix from the ash
I plead for all the help that you can send
so I can let go of my past
Sunday, August 3, 2014
How the Hummingbird Got His Sound
The glassy red feeder is dry, but I fill it up
with my words, ink drying as quickly as liquid sugar
as it permeates upon this page, sticky,
with the sensation of saccharine and empty calories.
There is a corona about my hands as my characters waltz airlessly
through the story, their auras attaining a rose-colored hue
memories of you and I. Even bad times
shade every sentence.
Hummingbirds, zumming across the porch
to sample its sweetnes, spanning
galaxies, singing space operas
with the force of their dancing wings.
with my words, ink drying as quickly as liquid sugar
as it permeates upon this page, sticky,
with the sensation of saccharine and empty calories.
There is a corona about my hands as my characters waltz airlessly
through the story, their auras attaining a rose-colored hue
memories of you and I. Even bad times
shade every sentence.
Hummingbirds, zumming across the porch
to sample its sweetnes, spanning
galaxies, singing space operas
with the force of their dancing wings.
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