C

played like violins, we all move along...

by o on Saturday, December 13, 2008 at 10:47pm

Like a worn out fiddle
crimson and gold
and lost thoughts
which parade in those moments
which we all felt alive;

patches gray and gracious
meander in my mind
as a search for a meaning
to those words of hopefulness
and truth;
who ever wanted to hear those
soft words anyway
when you've never been the first-picked girl.

your eyes burn into me;
as if the heat is supposed to light
a lie which I refused to accept.
but with each struggle, hurt and heartache
comes a new rebirth of something greater.

I see colors divided from pigments indescribable
I feel in warmth in an emptiness
of being the unknown
I want what others need
I deserve what some require.


Streetlights have no meaning to me
heaven is just a stopping place
for what the earth truly prescribes for us all

I believe in fate; and a greater purpose in life than
to be waiting for the day
to be found good enough
to not be the fiddle, but to be the harp.

Delicate; cherished; fawned over
I feel it coming,
I wait in silence until that day...
until I am the harp, as with all the fiddles
I move along
from you..