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More from ~balinlesavage

belle the furie

Another last night stamping breathless
toward a sick, elusive sun, behind an
ugly run of less familiar pines
Into the clearing I stumbled undone to find
you in the middle of Broad, a pale unwanted
statue left atop the yellow lines

The last light lingered in your eyes
like that lurid house I hid inside, away from
darkened windows and the bullets in your glare
Away from years I've kept concealed
in the hundred dreams you've had to steal
ever since I pretended not to care

Fixed hard between grey blurring cars, so
sorrowful, my defense disarmed, held fast by
your expression, I couldn't run away
Your cruel pursuit I've always fled while you
ston

hecate in october

long has dark october dreamed for me
she leans soft against my side, brushing my hand
with a sound of ghostly roller coasters
whispering past, filling my coat pocket with air

she drives the moon down early at night
to hang watchful in my blue morning
demanding to be seen, to be noticed
to be remembered, to be whole

to embalm my nights in private black seas
where impaled on her angry finger I dream
a golden love beside me sleeps in warm july
while my blood is thinned by october's pallid eye

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Submitted: March 9, 2004
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all my road before meby ~balinlesavage

Digital Art / Photomanipulation / Landscapes & Scenery

I've been sweeping metaphors into a pile at my feet since last night when I woke up and found Belle dead across the page - laid out like she was swimming, outlined in grey chalk script, that curled away in looping words into a smiley face. It read, 'Juliet was never Juliet if she fell in love with Paris and laughed behind the curtains of the stage.'
Menelaus smirked, looked at me and mumbled something about Troy and humiliation. He said, 'I keep getting these slashes all across my dreams but for the life of me I don't know how they got there.' 'Yeah, me too', I said, and lifted up my shirt to show my chest, 'but after all this blood, it was Galatea carving me instead.'

Today I think I'm done with trying to guess the shape of truth by examining the exit wounds I use to feel so hollow. Something tells me I should stand, take a walk and look away, and be glad it didn't miss anything vital. So give me one more swallow of this bitter conversation, and I'll wrench it down again, shake my head and hit send. Maybe this way I can finally poison that wandering Lancelot, whose madness always keeps me looking too far back, to a girl I once saw standing with a huge fake smile, holding hands and getting married on the train tracks. But it didn't take me all sixty of her photographs this time to realize the ghost was just a shadow burned on my retinas long ago, and, uncomfortable as I've been lately with feeling this normal, it makes the walk a little easier, just to know.

Daily Deviation

Given 2004-03-16

all my road before me by *balinlesavage is a mind-boggling piece and one that works beautifully as a metaphor for the road that we all have to walk, steep and tangled in places and with an unknown destination. ( Suggested by `marble911 and Featured by `ZirTuan )