You move your eyes, there are spiders in the bedroom – dead. Do not let the silk stars in your eyes. This will cause great disrepair of the heart. You pick up the small stone, put it in your pocket, then turn and leave the room.
The song lyric comes back, like bitter tea,… “You’re nobody till somebody loves you” – “Do not let the Rock Stars in your eyes”, they told you. It is too late now for that. The dead spiders in the bedroom weave a web of tears and yesterdays. Just walk away now. The echoes walk behind you pleading, mocking, tearing your soul into pieces of tattered antique paper, full of drama, remnants of damaged dreams,…..
Oh Yahweh, your eyes tell it to the judge.
Give him that cast shadows on kisses
the first smooth stone of a Kisseh
– where the lichen embraces –
then he too shall weep bloody words of remorse.
You think that if you try to just damage the antique paper,….. things could be different somehow –
Orchids climb the silver webbed trellis,
Weaving in and out of rips and holes,
Like a boxer dancing with their long ago success .
Do not let the rocky cold stars in your eyes.
“You’re nobody till somebody loves you” –
Letting their hair down, though the birds marvel at the reach of their fingertips, they stretch to the horizon . Clouds caress the pillows on the bed, as the sighs, intertwined with bird songs, crawl across the rug desperately seeking amber kisses.
Star shine penetration throws up a quagmire of emotions.
Someone to love you, do you have anyone ? – please do not leave – the rock stares in your eyes.
Please do not let the star of your eyes
Beguile you with antique patterns,
A memory stolen from others.
She gives her first looks only to be kissed like a stone – oh what a chic puppy – now old, tired, but resolved to turn left and……….
to love you until the next signal, but not tonight.
The heart beats, a basket of wasted moments chopped up into second thoughts. The bare feet wiggle their toes in regrets and random rhapsodies of halfhearted apologies. A Tear becomes a tear in the journal page, stained when cracked laughter pours out empty freedom.
Now, she can say it – moss coloured memories compressed on pages of antique paper: This is my summer day, like a noisy crow, and there are his lips to remember – that laugh, a serenade.
Once there was a spider blue room.
He is the first stone cast and kissed by moss.
What to say to the judge is in your eyes.
Can there be forgiveness here,……… even now ?
Now You can move your eyes,
The Dead stand by – a Spider is in the bedroom.