Tuesday, September 27, 2011


Inspiration: Thinking about how people go to visit a place and only see the resort.
Word: Sun

The horizon sun sat listening,
tending humbly to the soft soul of the wanting.
I began to crave for bitter days
because the yellow burnt through my savoring pain
and kept me shaken with gladness.
The omnipresent spawns of it
disabled my lids from rising,
kept me hiding from the truth of the heat.
So I was cluelessly in love with scorched trees
and deprecating beads of sweat-
that sat dangling upon the heads of the sun burnt black,
and those who couldn't indulge in such pretty drapings of
their own blood spread through yards of fabric,
creating an iridescent crimson touch.
The blaze was too much, from the sun and the blunt.
The simmering sweet lie of paradise,
began carving across my soul shifting sharply towards my eyes
making me realize-
I began to realize real lies, and see the sorrow swept eyes
that teetered across the pretty, living a sawdust of hurt.
Such dust was now apparent as my lids began to rise.
I could now see the evil, the demise of a people
and it was evident, it was real.
In the dirt, the hurt, the blood and the sorrow
this place, paradise, was made real.

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