Stupéfiant: 05.07.08

The few can decipher where the message is from

I went so crazy that I didn't know what to do.

Must enjoy the sun,
must enjoy the sea.

Your mistake was giving me your heart to break.

KYLEWILSON

As still,
still as the soft echoing voice of reason,
the trees bend with the awkward world of which they've created,
a light reflects upon the subtle witness of such movement,
calming the waves with the warmth of a thousand souls,
expanding outward regaining the third horizon.

She stands,
still as the breathless en devour of confusion,
guided to what she has been awakened for,
with closed eyes the path becomes visible,
with steps not touching the ground,
she moves her shade, crossing her color.
Outside of solitude and within the grasp of fear,
alone she stands strong,
alone she sings.
with every gentle note, the trees unwind.
The last sound of time is the song thats sung inside our mind.

Sorry to be heavy, but heavy is the cost.

Excuse me too busy you're writing your tragedy.

You've no idea what you're like.

She stands stark naked
and she beckons you to bed.
Don't go, you'll only want
to come back again.

Does this make me an 'artiste?'

The hearts always keen to endure.

You moved like honey, in my dream last night.

Le ce soir était un échec

Feuilles blanches,
peau molle

I wish I could be a poet, write something flowing and life altering.
I wish I could be a painter, capture thoughts with color.
I wish I could be a musician, help people get through the day with words.
I wish I could be a photographer, capture memories otherwise forgotten.
I wish I could be a linguist, say the right thing to everyone.
I wish I could be a historian, know the dates and names.
I wish I could be a seamstress, make every woman feel good.

Life's a cigarette
If you have ever smoked a cigarette you know the best part is the last part. The last forty or so seconds, where those last desperate drags suck up into oblivion and the air becomes winter thin in your throat, and the last embers finally fall out and extinguish themselves in the most secretive of ways. No final blaze, just a slow burn. That's what life is like. How we act our parts is up to us, for like a cigarette, there are two certain things. There will be fascination with the beginning of the burn, and the end of the burn. How we fill the middle is up to us.

Je déteste chacun.

I'm all the days
that you choose to ignore.

You looked like you'd been softened,
like you never really loved the pain.

I've got my feet on the ground
and I don't go to sleep to dream.

With dreams of his slow guitar
caught in the net of my mind
I step out on my small porch, gaze;

I drink tea on the porch at sunset all alone
I may have many sorrows
I know this sadness

but it is still a beautiful world
I will walk with beauty all around me

how can we close our eyes?
anybody hear the forest fall?
the woods were lovely, dark and deep
now you loose the smell of the ocean
and the sea its shore

life is too strong for you
and weak hearts expire.