It’s a tin-whistle stop where shadows bleed dark elixir blood. Draining from the veins and capillaries of time and all that hides.
Hidden, stolen away in loss and degradation. Sin cuts deep into me and every eye is blinded.
Can’t see the water for what’s drowning. Can’t hold on with these broken arms and dreams.
Awake from slumber; wiping sleep from my eyes as You’ve wiped this slate clean. Brush the darkened stone so to carry this lighter yoke past horizons, beyond a million sunsets, past every wave of water, sky and heaven.
Heaving deep; lungs burn as I try and sputter. . . as I try and sputter. . . as I try and sputter and shudder at what tomorrow may bring.
Brought through fire, bought with sunrise, water, birth and blood. Bleed the death from me, yield ten million gallons.
Pale and weak I’ll crumble into arms fit to carry me home.
it was really cool
i loved it, all of it
Posted by: maeva | Apr 13, 2006 at 02:11 PM
Wonderful imagery! I specifically liked, "can't see the water for what's drowning. Can't hold on with these broken arms and dreams."
Sat down with my guitar and sang through it...
It's a very moving poem.
Posted by: timothy putnam | Jun 09, 2005 at 02:13 PM
bought with sunrise, water, birth and blood. Bleed the death from me, yield ten million gallons.
Pale and weak I’ll crumble into arms fit to carry me home.
very nice Kasey-- visceral.
Posted by: jd walt | May 26, 2005 at 11:20 PM