Monday, April 06, 2009

Isaac Newton

A thousand of distinct kinds of labor
going on inside me
while I'm stripped out of my consciousness
Feeling like nothing was done for months before
Everything came my way and then down to everyone
As if it was ever our fault, such mess
Trying out clothes to cover where it's still sore

Inside it all
There's still that something more
Running away to the flowery fields,
reaching out for the sun
New Year resolutions buried
sown underneath solid ground
The fruits of your efforts, watered
and alive
Your tree of successes to be done

Still laying unconscious, juices spin
And burn my throat
Like never seen acid thought
As they open slowly
my eyes already looking
Scars upon my wrist that don't exist at all
Out the skin
The picture's mine and raw
And I feel the fluids ready to fall

But besides it all
There's still that something more
Kept hidden inside healthy soil
From which solid rocks are born
Dreams built and dreams torn apart

I'll be waiting here, for the apple to forgive
And fall as roots also need to feed
Looking for a way to heal
the inner damage
Working even though standing still.

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