I found one from a few years ago that, for some reason, I hadn't posted. Probably because it was too personal back then. If that even is a thing, poems tend to be personal.
Either way, it is
a dream of accuracy indeed.
Let's stir demons in their dreaming.「叙情」
Dream of Accuracy
(29. May 2011)
The ticking of the clock reminds me I still
haven't taken the steps I should take, I still
don't know which way to go
and my head so empty, no to or fro,
No thoughts clearly stay,
they just flutter, and wince, and ebb away.
No words to my feelings,
no syllables, no songs, it just seems it
might end up flowing with no beginning and end
a chaotic, mesmerizing mix of nothingness that tends
to just dissipate within the folds of an uneasy mind
wondering how when there’s nothing to touch, there's nothing to find
And yet things are just what they will be
and things keep speaking of love and trust and creed,
But the words they fade before they've found meaning,
and the breeze of their deaths stirs demons in their dreaming
There’s nothing to touch, yet a lot to really feel
but feelings fall unbearably into things not real
So that at the edge of a faltering consciousness
I stretch out my arms, grow wings and confess
“Beings without wings can fly if they try
if they abandon their bodies, lift off and just live,
the unexpected for all time and ever”
And so you fall in a helix of repeated nevers,
cling to images of other people's minds
that keep telling you what it is that defines
you, while they do nothing but reproduce mirrored reflections,
and know little of their souls defections.
A shadow in a bright world, my affection,
the instance of a flying thought its only connection
Words are nothing and yet they do it all
They break you, take you, shake you and make you fall
heal and seal and assemble the splinters of your broken whole
make an ephemerality last and clean a soul.
If words could lift my feet, make move my lips,
make me walk and stretch out my fingertips,
touch you, feel you, spill a new ‘I love, you’,
but they desert me on my tongue, un-true --
and I fall back into the dark with no identity
just illusion, truths, and a dream of accuracy
In lasting disbelief of others' true intentions,
a wary caution snarling and snapping at signs of affection
Thankful yet aware everyone one day will leave
and if you do, I'll again drown in grief
love's lovers' knight in bleeding armor
red dyed garments sewn with reputable honour.
Ignorant of what and who this love aims at
who are you where are you who are you, and that's that.Poem archive.