The torn rug
September 19, 2011 § 2 Comments
Open, Mother, I am open.
There is a beast
that lumbers it’s gross form
to the center of the city
litter at it’s feet
The mouth opens
and sings
a beauty like never heard
before
There is a lark
with wings of gold
it’s freakish cry
drops the limbs of the trees
Broken, Mother, I am Broken
and again, I am returned
All that I anticipated
shattered on the kitchen floor
All that came back
Far more than I ever
could have imagined
Heart Broken Open
The Exquisite…
and The Foul
Dance together
in a Waltz of Eternity
I will be the torn rug
At their feet
begging that the music
never stop…