feathers
as the feathers of rain fell from the skies and emptied into the wells in my eyes i let out a breath. Poems flowed from my throat and found freedom in the torrential pour of the monsoon. I emptied my words and turned once more to sleep, where new words and new rains would gather in and above my head, to be nurtured in the morning. The day had only started, the day of my dreams, where the captives of my imagination suffered no limitations, only the excess. I stood coiled in the branches of time, the leaves clung to me like serpants, breaking off my eyelids until the sun shone through once more. And i stood there, gazing at a renewed sky, with such awe, that i noticed not my dreams being lifted, my words drying, my sleep disappearing, into the haze that covered this mirage. For in the sky, i saw love.. and her sight made all things pale... the shadows of everything i had once thought beautiful fell as the ashes of a dead fire... and i was alive once again...weeping at the glory of love, shedding the skins of life.
cph
7.2.01
depression
i lay in my bed without my lover, she is away. the sun has set on our euphoria, the nights will now be cold, until i once again find one to hold. the sun rises, so lazily, so heavily, he matches my mood with his rays, and i sit in shadows and weep. i miss her smell, i miss her gaze......the way in which silence communicated more than words, all in the gestures of our souls. we were united, like a bride and groom, yet without rings to prove our devotion.
the world was empty, she filled its void. the nights were fragile, she wove them together.... the days were sad, her smile shattered my gloom. i now lay and watch the mirror for her reflection, checking herself in the moonlight to see if her thighs were still firm, holding her breasts to see if they had begun to fall. i would sit and watch her........and the night would turn to daylight, and we would embrace and walk the streets in the wonder of our content. and yet i write to you from the ink of my mourning......for the pen is dry, and my tears flood this page.....the winter has been cold.......no mercy lay in its path, and she is no longer with me........she is away...........and so i do believe am i.......for she has stolen me and i remain lost in her.
ben sand
23rd of july
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a short inconsequential thought
as the air beneath you begins to suffer, and receede into the haze that your wings have brought, I retire to my fire, and watch the flames lick my fingers. the night comes crushing in, all fevers running through doorcracks, cellars cold and frightening, lofts warm and seductive. in the darkness I light myself, illuminating my words as they pour out of me and wrap around the floor like ants at work.
thoughts
music is like poetry..it says in melody what the pen writes in calligraphy.
it opens the heart, soothes the senses, lulls the mind, pacifies the blood, calms the lungs and eases the thoughts.
poetry is a window into the soul of the one behind the pen. if one is honest in their work, then a person can be known and loved, by his written work alone.. for it shows the deeper side of all the emotions the tongue cannot portray.
a season of smiles can be told in a line of rhymes...
the sadness of lost winters can be summed up in the space of a page... a page of white paper waiting to be stained with black ink, so heavy and permanent.
but music captures the merriment of life...the sadness of night...the brightness of light.. and the enchantment of midnight...for music is truly the river of Gods thought... floating into all that play.. and leaving with the minerals within them, changing the water to their own smell or taste.. but the spring that it all came from, the well of words and song.. they were all birthed in the heart of the most high.. in his lap... in his daydreams.. they were birthed for our moods.. to lift us up.....and bring us softly to fall.. they are the weights of life.. the balance between living and dying................
ben sand
2001
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