I love you.I am not myself these days; I find myself, more and more, in the fog of window panes and the cold, misty morning air.I am not myself these days; I lose myself, more and more, in the way light catches off certain clouds of sunset: prisms.What is different? I love walks in the park,clichéd as that may be, and I enjoy the taste of the rain.What else is different? I am not willing, try as I might, to accept or acknowledge that the sins of my ancestors reflect in me.Of course, this is all since I met you. I wish, sometimes, to feel less like a piano, and more like a harpsichord thatonly you know how t
Frigid.Without you I'm a winter heart:a cold sunset anda cloudy sunrise,a night on my shoulder like a ten minute dreamamidst the silent snow --nothing lasts forevermore.Ice on fire,a melting dream,three ways tobreak apart; will you feel anything at allwhen the rain stops andwhen the heart freezes?
Sanctity.A pilgrim atthe half remembered ruins,sunset wiringstarspun andburning low --alive, somehow,at the night's watch.
to love you is to lieby dolan greyto love you is to lie;to deceive you is to betray myself.to curse you is to send my heart to something else, perhaps a ghost of what I imagined, last spring, in the rain, under the full moon, that open heart, willing soul, and I knew them both.to love you is to die;to trick you is to destroy myself.shattered windows and bloodstains,my mind torn from my body as I tried to fathommy stars all falling from the sky.loving you is agony;shunning you is pain.not again, said my corpse,my battered conscience,this house is built on stone!but summer brought heat,autumn brought wind, andwinter brought the chill of de
Time to change.Where did you sleep last night?With old trees and little lakes,because somedays,the best we can do is pretendit's a small world.Entering meditation,the verb: to dreamabout happinessand sleeping with butterflies.
the boy who belongs to the sunmoments between sleep, late at nightI talk like you're still hereshining in a dark placelike rain on the seadancing on a tightropeIcarus, just before he fellswallowing shadows where wings once layfalling away with youeach word gets lost in the echoand i try to explain it shadows under the moonlighta memory of frost and snowhere, by this fire, with you
CovetI want his wingsand when I dieagain,the reality I chose to stay inwill make a memory of me.
Whispers of another lifeby dolan greyYour dress is a ball gown, an upside-down rose petal;those inverted flowers make half of my garden:I'll make you a bouquet of dark red, and lavender;a dress for warm evenings, our hot nights.Eyes like watered wine, refined, and intoxicating;decanted, measured, inviting and poisonous:You've corrupted me, dear, but slowly, carefully;hazel depths, inviting, deep amber alcohol.A thousand grains of sand, gritty and gravelly, imperfect;nothing feels farther from your skin touching mine:Velvet and silk and corduroy, these things of delicacy;every inch of you, satin smooth, elegant suede and swan feathers.La
love ends six feet deep with hands intertwinedhe's a city drifter with a head full of pine needlesshe's a christmas kitten stuck in a forgotten pastthe same, but differentit's hard to explain butit's grave digging time andthis is love
the elements that bind us togetherpoems, wounds, and dead birdsmade a memory of me.you can't protect me from them;i meet things which do not belong to this world.sometimes there is a dark character in my dreams -her shelterfeels like the end.take a breathon a cold night.little gypsy moth,mi corazon,in every mindare ghosts up in the attic.i'd kill to be queen.
Rest, Nowby Dolan GreyI.The mist of the mountainsLike the breath of a giantSoft, as if sleepingCool this time of yearSettles in around meDamp and greyThe air is murkyI begin to feel alone.II. Darkness comes quicklyThe sun is saying goodnightOver the tops of the peaksAnd leaving in a hurryHe is my friend, the sunStretching his arms out to warm meBut betraying me at lastLeaving me to the murky gloom.III.It is midnight when I hear itQuiet, at firstAlmost like a secretThen louder, forgetting stillnessBeautiful, like a hundred harpsAnd wretched, like a dying thingThe sweet melody shatters my soulAnd I know it is for me.IV.W
TeeterWhen I wake,I am among the stars, poised on the brink between dreams and reality.It’s so easy to see through the broken bonds between waking life... and the power of Imagination, that same other world so close... too close.Separate realitiesin a sea of dreams.
what we need mostby dolan greyi.blue skies overhead, andthe seagulls come infrom the bay, looking for somebetter nourishmentthan can be foundat sea.ii.i came in from the field,seeking shelter andsolacefrom the burning sun.you greeted me in the doorway,brown eyes and brown hair.iii.we're the same,those gulls and i,thermals lifting us up,hot wind,our concentric livesbringing us back towhat we need most.
what we once werein space we are (searching for gods);it can be so elusiveoh, circumventing hearts-the stories we tell ourselves.they say love is unconditional,she disagrees….why (do) all these fantasiesfall from grace?How does it feel-lost in your own rage?This isn’t happily-ever-after….time passes cruelly;childhood departs-i am not splotched ink and tallied memory!lament-the beauty's in the leaving….
Tanganyika1.Your naïve welcomeand medical maroon;temperature tolerance.2.Speckled religion,rituals of life and death;viscous blood taboo.3.A band of crimson,ancient June in the desert;the opulent ivory.4. Patient and scarlet,sacredly perpetual,masks a ladybug.5. Flitting acceptance,powerful saffron and myrrh,a tribal countenance.
twenty-four of four (plus three)by dolan greyi.the slipping of one's mindlike a sheaf of paper,blown away,leaves one grasping for the wind.ii.pen and inkare not alwaysnecessarywhen one writes in blood.iii.shall i sing songsof war, love, gods,when the pettiness of conflictis embedded in our hearts?iv.waters that flowfreelyare as much a gift asuninterrupted thoughts.v.peace...can not last...vi.we wait alwaysfor the bells to ringchiming the hour ofanother's demise.vii.it has always beenthat on still nightsa man must speakto interrupt the silence.viii.tracks of tears,like tributaries,feed only a greater sorrow.ix.lesser men,cr
Through the fire and the flamesby Dolan GreySnow falls, this morning;daybreak.Even these early rays of lightseem deadly, piercing to us.Night falls, this evening;darkness.Even the laughter of our childrensounds wicked, awful.Battles, small and large,through marshes and marches, send the spirits of the slainthrough shadows, to the sea.Riding on the steppeswatching the dark towers,we know they go through flames, too.So now we rise up, liberated by the elements,towards whatever trials await,our journey only just begun.Behind the sun, behind the stars,below the surface of the moon; our souls --Distanced, time ticks onfor the souls of the dead;we
to sophiaa cento by dolan greywhen by thy scorn, O murd'ress, I am dead, till blues & sorrow song, no fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm, an anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young--of birth and death, the two sad knaves of thieves, runoff, pitch-black, from the rivers of Psalms, a gleaming glassy ocean, as silent as pictures on the wall.but when the crowing syrens blare, it's as if the rain and the sky came down, its guardian grasp on blood and brain.the ghastly clouds of yonder skiescompare thus to your love;torrents of your miseries, rained on me from above.a quiet akin to ruins--the ghosts swarm. the
Still-life.The best of my paintings:the hum of a sad piano,a morning cigarette,and a graveside angel;all I ever wanted.
I have used the title of your piece in a poem!
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