Went to the cupboard but there was nobody there
Except for some bones and a tangle of hair
Came to the conclusion that no one would care
If I tripped on my words and slumped in my chair
dreamed a dark dream of that consisted of you
back in the amber of nineteen seventy-two
A green clay Golem in a dusty unmade home
Head touching rafter and eyes made of stone
Shambling the sand floor in marked out rooms
The history of one while the future loomed
In the back of my car in the back of my mind
The stitches the threads in photographic rewinds
Mementos illusions tricks of the light
Face fading as yellow chemicals ignite
In the heart of the sun in the head of the moon
Prophecies dance in the heart’s ballroom
I am the face in the mirror the touch of your hand
I am the seashore sculpture made out of sand
Whose grains are not counted but randomly blown
Across dunes of tomorrow where the future is sown
Not by the seeds of decay the half-life isotope
But by the deeds of the wilful, the children of hope
Tied to the mast as the maelstrom descends
turning the screws where the spiral begins
Title from Neil Young:
I am a child,
I'll last a while
You can't conceive
of the pleasure in my smile
Except for some bones and a tangle of hair
Came to the conclusion that no one would care
If I tripped on my words and slumped in my chair
dreamed a dark dream of that consisted of you
back in the amber of nineteen seventy-two
A green clay Golem in a dusty unmade home
Head touching rafter and eyes made of stone
Shambling the sand floor in marked out rooms
The history of one while the future loomed
In the back of my car in the back of my mind
The stitches the threads in photographic rewinds
Mementos illusions tricks of the light
Face fading as yellow chemicals ignite
In the heart of the sun in the head of the moon
Prophecies dance in the heart’s ballroom
I am the face in the mirror the touch of your hand
I am the seashore sculpture made out of sand
Whose grains are not counted but randomly blown
Across dunes of tomorrow where the future is sown
Not by the seeds of decay the half-life isotope
But by the deeds of the wilful, the children of hope
Tied to the mast as the maelstrom descends
turning the screws where the spiral begins
Title from Neil Young:
I am a child,
I'll last a while
You can't conceive
of the pleasure in my smile
5 comments:
Ah, Pisces, what can I say. Once again your words have me glancing off where the center cannot hold. The first ten lines are a perfect, complete epitaph of that year for me, when my wife took my daughters home to momma and I rattled around in the vaulted ceiling house I had just designed and built for them.
I know you had something else in mind, but thanks for jarring that loose anyway. ;)
wonderful pi..
k
:)
Glad to have been of assistance Greg :/ the dream depicted is, in fact, a nightmare from my childhood - a green clay man wandering through a half built house - still makes me feel uncomfortable.
Thank you karoline, glad you enjoyed :]
you keep writing of this mysterious 'you' ... i want to know who YOU is ??? right now. stop taunting me. it is giving me nightmares and making me feel very uncomfortable.
geesh! look - now you are stealing my lines ! have you been hacking into my dreams ?
hmmm. maybe you are right. something must have scrambled when i clicked those ruby red slippers and repeated, "Where is my home? Where is my home? ..."
That WAS what I was supposed to say whilst clicking heels ... wasn't it ???
(ok. i confess. i stole the nightmare and feel uncomfortable lines from your previous comment. I also cheat at scrabble. - You know red dirt girls .... they learn to play dirty .... ah hem.)
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