so, i was hit by a random stroke of inspiration, and wrote some bad poetry
if you want, you can take a look
terrible poetry to follow:
spit midnight into the wind
watch it turn to dust and blow away
obscure the star-holes in the night’s blanket
and cloak the world in soft, secure black velvet
but it won’t last long
these stolen moments of peace
for the morning’s light will burn a hole
through the night’s obscuring cloth
and bathe the world in harsh, burning color
exposing dreams as things that are but shadows
revealing fantasies to be but dust formed-
with some imagination-
into ephemeral semblances
washed-out images
of the brutal truth and brightness of reality
but under the midnight
imaginings of fantasy dance in the softness, The gentleness of shadows
and the line between dreams and reality
is smeared with a fantastical paintbrush
of half-formed phantom thoughts
come now, we can dance, dance away from truth
and into realms of wistfulness and dreams
come now, away from the harsh light
that shows you all the burning truths
and sears them into your mind with its rays
forever reminders, carved in the stone of memory
of the wrongs you have committed
the truth of the life you’ve lead
come now, into the dreaming lands of fantasy
where night’s gentle cloak protects us
come now, and dance in the shadows.
if you want, you can take a look
terrible poetry to follow:
spit midnight into the wind
watch it turn to dust and blow away
obscure the star-holes in the night’s blanket
and cloak the world in soft, secure black velvet
but it won’t last long
these stolen moments of peace
for the morning’s light will burn a hole
through the night’s obscuring cloth
and bathe the world in harsh, burning color
exposing dreams as things that are but shadows
revealing fantasies to be but dust formed-
with some imagination-
into ephemeral semblances
washed-out images
of the brutal truth and brightness of reality
but under the midnight
imaginings of fantasy dance in the softness, The gentleness of shadows
and the line between dreams and reality
is smeared with a fantastical paintbrush
of half-formed phantom thoughts
come now, we can dance, dance away from truth
and into realms of wistfulness and dreams
come now, away from the harsh light
that shows you all the burning truths
and sears them into your mind with its rays
forever reminders, carved in the stone of memory
of the wrongs you have committed
the truth of the life you’ve lead
come now, into the dreaming lands of fantasy
where night’s gentle cloak protects us
come now, and dance in the shadows.
