the words come and go as they please. a better place is out there for all of us but that's too easy. as the sun falls into its slumber and the moon rises with ease it provides serenity to everything the tint of darkness touches and that the night gives to those who embrace it.
the humble bridge is lit lightly by street lamps and candles of a memorial that looks like the sounds of echos and guitar. as they flicker, the alter's life starts giving the vicinity a feeling of warmth and acceptance to those who come and go. when the water below serenely crashes into itself it dances with loved ones at the gravity's fall. the silence of the experience is haunting yet comforting, a place for one and all.
the eyes of the world closing to listen to the music of emptiness that lurks along with the pigeons and swaying trees. the whispers of the world dwell within alleys and seep into chimneys as the children lay in their beds covered in the warmth of a home. the neutrality and acceptance of the stars wash over like a blanket in the clear void, sky watching but not waiting. people see shooting stars and smell stardust scattered on pine trees and oak leaves. whilst in the city, the aroma of books and new cars swims within the maze of hospital lights at night and beach boardwalks at 3 in the morning.
the roads that escape a labyrinth of folds fog with uncertainty falling down the asphalt like a child on a grassy hill. in the distance yet from all directions an echo of solitude and the feeling of soft tumbling of souls crashing into your back like a wave at high tide. the taste of mist lulls the fauna to rest closing their eyes and tucking them into bed. waves of pine needles and pillows on which all lay either soft or hard.
the aura of motels and nightlights flood senses with nostalgia and embrace the light sounds of rain and empty highways. you walk consciousness with the feeling of missing something you've never known drifting into a river of numbness enveloping you like how a breeze envelopes a hawk on a grey morning. a rooster wouldn't wake until the break of dawn, but with the sky as blue as the ocean floor and the fairies that dance in the dark matter above that is a while away and yet too soon.
the streets are devoid of breath as the hollow lungs of the trees and yet so much life lives and rests in the palm of the night's hand. the darkness is young and so are the minds of wanderers like a January afternoon sitting still and coaxing victims to apathy. you feel as though your insides are leaking onto the ground and into the soil of the earth embracing it with open arms and sighing minds that tastes like a milky way of incomprehensible and unplaceable feelings.
and as if nothing has changed you're back at the bridge, lit by the dull light of akin to California forests and cattails in swamps. waiting for the world to wake so you may sleep.
listen to 'BON IVER & ST. VINCENT - roslyn'I was trying to capture that (^) feeling, it seems as though it's unfortunately impossible.
