about thoughts converging
This is the point
where everything merges
Into one big fireball of
Bitterness, distrust and fear.
Sure, there are signs
To mark the featured concrete,
Cold, uninviting, beckoning
But what are they made of?
It could be gingerbread I'm tasting,
A house of sugar and deceit,
Luring the naïve to a – different experience –
An eye-opener of surprise
Consequence for every action.
So what is this,
And where am I going?
Can you tell me as you
poke me in the eye?
Wake up.
Dive in. It feels good.
Flap around, whales do.
Feel the sand stick to you
And wash it all clean.
Poetry by Caila Ihle
Read 538 times
Written on 2006-09-09 at 07:56
Tags Redemption
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Crisis Point
This is the point
where everything merges
Into one big fireball of
Bitterness, distrust and fear.
Sure, there are signs
To mark the featured concrete,
Cold, uninviting, beckoning
But what are they made of?
It could be gingerbread I'm tasting,
A house of sugar and deceit,
Luring the naïve to a – different experience –
An eye-opener of surprise
Consequence for every action.
So what is this,
And where am I going?
Can you tell me as you
poke me in the eye?
Wake up.
Dive in. It feels good.
Flap around, whales do.
Feel the sand stick to you
And wash it all clean.
Poetry by Caila Ihle
Read 538 times
Written on 2006-09-09 at 07:56
Tags Redemption
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text|
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