deepundergroundpoetry.com
Smoking , Mental , Cavities
The past it curls
in rising smoke
through mental turns
ember to stoke
again to burn
though I have no hope
dead leaves can't turn
if there is no scope .
The fumes rise up
I go under
mental cavities close down
amid the thunder
of echoed sounds
from memories yonder
all i have is what I found
in days of younger
Ashes of crisp
fall to the ground
brain tissue boils to mist
and rains it's droplets down
the sad song is missed
as the violin makes no sound
the meaning of bliss
is in a circle I keep going around .[/font]
in rising smoke
through mental turns
ember to stoke
again to burn
though I have no hope
dead leaves can't turn
if there is no scope .
The fumes rise up
I go under
mental cavities close down
amid the thunder
of echoed sounds
from memories yonder
all i have is what I found
in days of younger
Ashes of crisp
fall to the ground
brain tissue boils to mist
and rains it's droplets down
the sad song is missed
as the violin makes no sound
the meaning of bliss
is in a circle I keep going around .[/font]
Published 23rd Apr 2011
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27th Apr 2011 00:43am
i totally get this, my brain cells burn of crisp ashes when I have fallen because of someone inflicting the burn of the violin, circling, going around
27th Apr 2011 1:02am
