Monday, February 9, 2009
Should the morning light last all day, we'd make haste as we hold our canopies upright. I'd drape fleece over my dreaming shoulders. And should I begin to fight complacency, I'd be too fearful to signal in the midst of this rain. And should my parasol become weak, I've always fiction to confide in. My yarn consists of a warm living room on a lowly-lit afternoon. Should your thin lips surface the rim of a warm porcelain tumbler, I'd be forced to believe you are drinking consent as I imbibe on contempt. My eyes are fixed upon the static of non-fiction and the commonality we ought to share, but don't. I'll share my fleece if you'll share your consideration.
Monday, February 2, 2009
It only took the sound of a lightly-played piano at midnight to cause my heart to stop and ruminate on my own complacency. I've been waiting for this heavenly interjection for months on end. I'd forgotten of the aches that accompany refinement;however, I'd rather feel sad than unclean. I'd rather see a light at the end of the tunnel than find myself fixed in the midst of strange company. I'm ready to accept grace again. I want to rise early and spend time with my Divine on a consistent basis. I want to exercise my intellect as well as my body. I want to literally lock myself in my room and paint for hours on end again. I pray that my thoughtfulness might be restored; that my contemplative spirit might reign more prominent than my impulsive tendencies. I am so weary of wishing to mean what I say; I'm ready to say what I mean and mean what falls from my lips. I long to possess a healing, safe disposition.