Names do not matter;
Beyond our mere existence -
God is still the same.
Love SongDon't choke the love out of meLove Song by Filosofia
prodding incessantly for words and expressions;
I know you hoped my love for you
would move me to speak in gushes of verse,
but if the river were to dry
neither you nor I
could force it to do otherwise;
your frantic pales of spilling water, your harrowing spades
would only deepen the wound in the earth.
Lifeless it will flow
still it will die.
If gravity should command a different course
who are we to argue with the earth?
In vain, they hurl their should's and should-not's
wrapping their minds in shroud upon shroud
their hearts, pulverized -
cast in casts of error
infests the darkness; a fear of pain.
The sight of blood to the eyes is fine -
but the mind
(seeking refuge in the blind)
refuses to see hearts bleed, and die.
Don't choke the love out of me;
the love is gone, and you're choking me.
SpeedSpeedSpeed by Filosofia
is distance over time.
Distance is separation
the crack, the void,
a pain to be savored.
Time is passing
there's not enough to waste
in circular definitions;
time is a line, without a curve.
speed is the wind
blowing through your hair
not the numbers you stare at
as the world passes by.
...Your warm hair's a sonnet,... by Filosofia
Your scent is a song
Your smile is a painting
Of where I belong.
Your voice is my prayer
Your lips are my wine
Your heartbeat, my temple;
Pristine and divine.
Your eyes a deep well
A sweet ode to glee
Your confident gait;
Yet these words are naught
But insult to Time
For you are a poem
In no need of rhyme.
BlindMaybe her voiceBlind by Filosofia
Whispered through your ears
(in your mind)
Feels like her silky wisps of hair
At your fingertips
Maybe her smile
Brighter than the sun
Reflected in her eyes
Melts the world
Into the palm of your hand
Leaving you lost
In a space-less void
Sweet as honey, intoxicating as wine
To you she's all that is pure and divine
But I swear by the star where our fates intertwine,
No heart could ever love you as mine.
Therefore is winged cupid painted blind
UntitledUntitled by painted-blind
This is a story about people,
about a place,
about a time.
In three stages it is told,
but on one it will end.
The fatigue lines his brow,
the impatience, and anxious irritation
are clearly discernable
as we stand there
imbedded in time.
His words are fast,
as he squishes his forehead together
between his middle, forefinger, and thumb.
My mind isnt paying attention
as I look else where around me,
but I stop. I hit those words
and I reel my head back
to stare into the empty tired eyes of my beholder.
And slowly I begin t o b r e a k.
I need to leave, but I cant move
in fear that if I touch anything it will die,
most especially you
and I killed you one too many times before.
It clicked, everything clicked into place.
My futile effort,
My unanswered question
to find what was wrong.
I couldnt find the answer,
because the answer wa
So, Joe.So, Joe. by cairnthecrow
The paint glares.
He takes off his utilitarian glasses, briefly, and swipes the fabric of his shirt over the lenses in smooth, even circles. Carefully, he resettles them, allowing the frames to latch onto flesh and find a comfortable position. This is a sight worth seeing, and worth seeing well.
The graffiti arcs across the wall in grand sweeps: the green bulge of a letter, the jagged magenta of an outline, the crackling blue of a fading slur. Also, maroona dark color, pale in contrast to the clamoring cacophony of the other hues. The maroon hisses as it erupts from the can, etching its way across the concrete wall.
Hunched over on the sidewalk is the artist, his unkempt hair forming a thorny crown of slick brown spines. The skin of his brow tightens in a clenched V as he finishes off the final letter of what Joe can only assume is his name. The scrawled script might as well be a foreign language; its just as elegant as Japanese hirigana, in its own way, and just as
ParadisicalThey entered the Garden together. The plastic gloves hid the soft sagging of slowly aging skin, and there was a distinctly adolescent quality to their desperately locked fingers. Lily strapped on her gas mask with a quick glance at Sam, then unlocked the door, watching as the airlock slowly adjusted to compensate for the atmospheric change. The last thing they wanted to do, after all, was contaminate the air.Paradisical by cairnthecrow
It was an abrupt transition, going from their office into the Garden, and once again Lily felt a pang in her stomach, a wistful feeling of melancholy. It was a beautiful placedraped with their home-grown trees and vines and flowers, some real, most artificial, all gleaming a rich green under the solar lights.
She carried the new plants cradled in her arms; he carried his pruning shears and the test kit. It didnt take long for them to be noticed. Within five minutes, the Garden erupted into the swirl of babbling that always denoted the childrens arrival.
Current Residence: Alexandria, Egypt|
Favourite genre of music: Rock, Alternative, Indie, and anything acoustic.
Favourite style of art: simplicity, elegance.. grace.
MP3 player of choice: iPod Touch