Sunday, 5 December 2010

Hardly Hercules

You, are impossible.

Just a ball of black mass and the messy tangle of the threads of life.
Such an ordinary mystery it's hard to believe your not imaginary.
And although i'm hardly swept off my feet you could rival a thousand
Racing winds, could you melt the icy ridges climbing the mountains?

There is humor in the failure, and a softly stroked sun too young.
Dawn frames your mind, not the waiting kind or patient kind either.
And without a healthy skip of a fragile organ away, blood drips and
Dips into the crevices and caves of  the caverns in you're homely heart.

If a star exploded there it would flake and die, captured in your eye.
I doubt charity crosses the empty eternities between mind and fire.
And although the rumbles of the rocks and boulders fall on your
Shoulders, the enormity won't let you lie yet, neither will my fantasies.

You, are impossible

No comments:

Post a Comment