Every Other Night and SoundA Poem by Bryan SanchezIt's just how I see it when an bulance drives by.
Starry dispositions at best
The building across, And the voices all to similar. It's been the same dream all nights I fright, and simmer past; Ghosting and ghosting and ghosting Because the words are meddled The world is meddlesome I don't see better, I just sit past Echo into silence Every nook and cranny Is where I splash. No reflections, Just truth out bottles That ring so true, And spill so many Inhibitions. Spill so many Kisses. Countenance as ever cold to touch A touch such a sunless day Gives warmth and reprise To the youth I keep Inside. Starry nights rushing past Step into step Until life falls back, And like-wine simmers in. Sin You sin, You sin away. Cast aside the opulent hope! Screech rebellion to your truth. The truth is you're living God is gone But god is you, And shine on to your prophets, Disciples, same flowed springs And flower out. The starry night that Nurtures what Dazed beauty lies. On the ground, next an ambulance. Religion of expectation Holy house of blood You return from hallowed sermon. Giving peace to those around Even you, drifting away On a stretcher So long I, To stand the truth you sing. And cast aside blasphemy Like a coat on a bed And expectations hiding in your closet. I am young, But I have lived too far to see Different. No different than what's left of past. Brass that my touch embraced The kiss of smoke The fall of men Women, Children. I'm across the sea of emerald Nowhere near the city on a hill. Your floor is my ceiling. But your purity Is my first meal lost Oh so many years ago. Crashed to vindictive reality. Sitting in a lonely room With a line I never finish, Nor start, And I was never good enough To imagine. Just an island away. Staring out my window at Where your life begins again. If someone could just hear my pleas. Please, sit next to me, And hold one hand, So the other can say What a mesmerizing view Of the world begining anew. That's the best A puddle can do. On a lonely minute In a time lit in strobe Fueled by ecstasy. © 2015 Bryan Sanchez |
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Added on October 30, 2015 Last Updated on October 30, 2015 AuthorBryan SanchezSyracuse, NYAboutI write poetry and screenplays, and hope to one day write a decent novel. Until then, I'll be content to fill up notebooks with ideas that'll never see the light of day, haha. more..Writing
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