i miss you most on mornings- a random thought straying some familiar, something recalls you from a place that no longer exists i blunder through memory some days- some mornings before the blurring day begins i sit here, alone with you
cherokeeghostwriter reblogged
these words are bones rattling in my fist, pennies tossed in faith - i used to believe in something after this, broken promise, another life now post-modern thoughts almost kisses on cold reflection, breath is relative, love a dead relation i’d wish back if water was the kind to give to hope, live again in these shaky hollows resonating with how i’m made of, countless little pieces
cherokeeghostwriter reblogged
sun-sets
such worries, when things will be what they ever, will come down, come down with me see the world going, still don’t miss me now, behind the sun when day is, done
cherokeeghostwriter reblogged
i don’t write poems anymore. i think about it, but it never happens. i still collect words here and there, just in case, but, i have run out of language to convey them. this new reality feels insincere, clinging to me like an indolent child. i’m left with a profound sense of sadness -closing the door.
cherokeeghostwriter reblogged
turn
almost done becoming the older generation everyone i’ve ever known seems to have wandered away incrementally straying to parts unknown living and dying, without a word
we’re all orphans eventually no place to rest our unattended heart drifters passing through ghost towns -our days of ago, a dalliance just around the next corner
cherokeeghostwriter reblogged
Patience
Beneath the patient weight of Another days dutiful obligation. I rest my mind in the quiet streams Of a wordless contemplation.
And though my hands are made weary, With this endless energy spent. My soul has settled among the stars, and holds my heart content.
cherokeeghostwriter reblogged
watered down moon light into mercury grey, a midnight pools the charcoal pavement or silver afternoons reflecting rippled memory the soul of then, of now -of summers lost when hearts were broken much too soon
cherokeeghostwriter reblogged
madeofsaltwater-deactivated2017
tender
nest me now soft into the day ease the morning light the fresh
opens my hands palm up releases that which is not mine wasnt mine lets it go
sinks into that which i love and that which loves me
incidental art.
Here's another shot of this evenings sunset. I've never seen pink fog before. No filter -cell phone.
Sunset through the trees. Waterloo AL.
cherokeeghostwriter reblogged
To January
I am four hours of sleep meets, uncounted cups of coffee meets, my fascination with the rain dripping from the roof I have finally given in to January with its thirty one small surrenders and its thousand shades of overcast bartered, from the sun
promise of spring
these januaries are stacking up. i've a pile in the corner. they're imperceptible to everyone but me, and i have run out of ways to ignore them.
i do sometimes manage to forget, manage to overlook the relentless calendar - flapping its pages fluttering, mocking me with a naive promise of spring.
Woke up to this. Would rather have had this on Christmas morning.
we're all falling. some more than others. plunging toward nth degrees, ensnared by fashionable ideology, chasing the unfamiliar to its obsolescence.
voices clamoring repetitive, crowds of conjecture in sync. the faces move lifelike, but i no longer listen. re-creations made in their own image, self-replicating multitudes -heedless.
cherokeeghostwriter reblogged
I’ve begun to suspect that most song writers only have one song most poets one poem- striving over and again to get it right