Friday, January 14, 2011

On A Quiet Night Your Explosions Run Wild Across My Nervescape

A newly discovered sound
the nature around me
things chirping and buzzing
in a moist, half-moon night,
I sit with a general knowledge
of where exactly on a map I am
but haven't the slightest idea
if the guy who designed the map
were as full of shit as I may be
sometimes...

but I can't hear the auctioneer anymore,
and there's no screaming of motorbikes,
no silence cut short by the man-made,
at least to my ears inside the short bursts,
when I can almost push you out of my heart entirely,
even when I know it's me that keeps you there,
the warden of a prison you left long ago,
I keep the damned cell locked around your ghost
and just as I think of how it'd feel to set free
the ghost I've made of you for me,
a firecracker goes off a block away
silencing the night like my thoughts on your voice,
how you sounded when you said those dishonest words

You are a distant and constant distracting explosion
on the edge of my sanity and begging me to fall over,
and I am forever silenced with the echo of your passionate flame
across nights like these when I'm surrounded by what I know is beautiful
yet I'm blinded and deafened to anyone or anything that seems
to want to prove that you aren't the only thing capable of burning me,
desensitized to the touch of sparking flesh that isn't yours,
knowing that when they ask me to be sincere in the night
about why it is I'm not drawn to their flames as maddeningly
nor as often as I am to your star which lights the entrance of my heaven,
in those moments, when I see that look we get in our eyes
when we watch our hearts born in the body of our love
and cast them into the sky above all other desires,
as that look grows across the face of who wants to love me,
I'll wish then greatly that you'd never been born into my heart,
a birth that leaves dead any chance of them gliding in your sky



© 2011 William A. Robertson (All Rights Reserved)