6(A/N: This is basically a collection of all my poetry thatÕs any good. I thought it would be silly to put them each as seperate stories. Most of them have something to do with stars. I guess I must have a thing for stars. Reviews are always appreciated.)
These stairs
Go up
In the warm dawn
Of a daydream
And alluring light.
Down
In a cloud of Stars
To cool Earthwater
That swirls and stirs
Like a rose-scented wind.
I want
the stars in heaven to fall
and burn out my eyes
with white heat
flame
until my eye sockets
are stars
so bright
that no one can look at me.
Tell Your story to the winds
Eternity dwells on in small silences
Ashes cry Your name, again, again
Reply with a stolen whisper
Rend the sky with a scattering of pebbled Lights
The stars
diminish
in a sigh
and a promise
Stars
like globes of condensation
on a glass
of pink lemonade
left out on the counter
by the sink.
I like the wind tonight-
earthy and strong,
it screams
but shake it cannot
the house
whose windows open like flowers
whose windows shut like hearts.
can you fix the broken hearts
of all the hurting people
metaphore trembles in its gilded cage
and you stay by to watch
can you love me
i Ôm still here
can you see me
anymore
donÕt turn on the light
Neon lights
on cobblestone
glaring in the puddles.
Inside,
the seven-eleven is
flourescant
smelling of disinfectant.
Rows of
dust-carpeted candy bars
and clean, greying, floortiles.
The woman,
almost a girl,
locks the door
with a comforting
click
and jangle of keys.
Safe now.
She sits on the counter,
hard on her bony backside,
tucks her knees
under her chin.
The lights hum.
She sleeps.
The lies
fall from my tongue
in drops
and hang
heavily in the air
with the rest of the
poison-smog veil
that smothers this city
drowns the sky.
The people
catch stardrops
on their tongues;
they burn
like whispers.
They look to me,
stardust in their eyes
kill in their teeth.
I clutch at my umbrella
but it will not fly-
the last star has fallen
and landed
in my palm.