Every Other Night and Sound

Every Other Night and Sound

A Poem by Bryan Sanchez
"

It'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

Author

Bryan Sanchez
Bryan Sanchez

Syracuse, NY



About
I 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