Sunday, 20 January 2008
The Artist
Make the artist use nought but black,
Paint all the flowers grey,
Turn your eyes until they face back,
To see your mind in its dismay.
Silence the musician's instrument,
Cut out the poet's tongue,
Make static from your love's lament,
And hear the saddness I have won.
I did these things unto myself,
So don't try to help me now,
Rather turn your back and use your stealth,
Get away from me somehow.
odc
Paint all the flowers grey,
Turn your eyes until they face back,
To see your mind in its dismay.
Silence the musician's instrument,
Cut out the poet's tongue,
Make static from your love's lament,
And hear the saddness I have won.
I did these things unto myself,
So don't try to help me now,
Rather turn your back and use your stealth,
Get away from me somehow.
odc
Posted by
Owen Cook
at
22:30
0
comments
Labels: Poem/Song
Sunday, 13 January 2008
Hidden Light
You are the sun behind a cloud.
Are you hiding from the world,
Or are you struggling to get out?
Are you hiding from the world,
Or are you struggling to get out?
You're a tree in deepest winter.
Are you happy where you stand,
Would you move if no root hindered?
You are the crest upon the wave.
Do you like to play up there,
Or is escape the thing you crave?
You are a bird upon the wind.
Has your journey been so long,
That you forgot you had a friend?
Will you show your pretty face,
Or remain masked till you go out?
odc
Posted by
Owen Cook
at
21:25
0
comments
Labels: Poem/Song
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