Beautiful Fiction
The night is ludicrous,
And painted as a clown,
And sunlight, sunlight, night's forbidden love,
The petals of sunlight lie on the contented clouds of dawn,
The spirals of smoke and the clouds.
Cannot be seen;
Cannot be touched;
Cannot be loved;
Even by the night,
It is blind,
Maybe another can see how the smoke and the clouds are the most beautiful things,
In the hum, in the hum of my Muse,
Not the night, nor the night's forbidden love,
But what could be,
Time, no sense of time for my Muse,
The future is present but present is past,
And is like the clouds and the smoke,
What could be - could they sing and set the sky alight?
Blinding, flashing, burning,
My Muse caught in the fire,
On the bed of sunlight petals,
And the sunset,
Blinding is the cold of the flames,
Flashing is a thousand memories,
Burning is passion,
The passion in the hum of my Muse,
Going backwards - no sense of time,
History books, written and turned to dust,
The dust rests, sleeps,
Eternally,
On the books written in red, and read,
By a million eyes and voices,
Though not those who hear the song of smoke
And watch the sky burn,
But look and see the still smouldering ash,
Ash that fills our lungs,
Suffocates the dawn, still, leaves dawn still,
They listen to the quiet which speaks,
Speaks a thousand words,
Or none,
Resting on the meanings of words never said,
Feeding on the crystals and the sparks
The sparks fly up,
Up into the hour glass until it breaks,
Under the crushing hand of passion,
Until the powered glass coats the ground beneath,
Sparkles in the night,
Invisible by dawn,
Dancing in the clouds and smoke,
Like a child - my Muse,
This chosen child that carves my destiny,
Through the many paths of others,
Roads and the neverending foliage,
Scattered,
Scattered like pieces of a broken heart,
Spinning and dancing with the child, knocking the edges of everything,
And anything,
Watching love unfold,
Under the soft blanket of starlight,
Sprawled over fabricated memories of the leaves beneath,
May the sun and night tangle,
Beating together, as one,
One eternal breath, one eternal life,
Like the dust that eternally sleeps,
But time is impossible,
After so many beautiful arrows struck the tangled web,
And my muse cheered,
And the clouds dropped,
The smoke froze as a piece of unwritten history,
Sun, night, beauty and my Muse's gentle hum,
Need not be buried under the stars,
But written as a beautiful fiction
And painted as a clown,
And sunlight, sunlight, night's forbidden love,
The petals of sunlight lie on the contented clouds of dawn,
The spirals of smoke and the clouds.
Cannot be seen;
Cannot be touched;
Cannot be loved;
Even by the night,
It is blind,
Maybe another can see how the smoke and the clouds are the most beautiful things,
In the hum, in the hum of my Muse,
Not the night, nor the night's forbidden love,
But what could be,
Time, no sense of time for my Muse,
The future is present but present is past,
And is like the clouds and the smoke,
What could be - could they sing and set the sky alight?
Blinding, flashing, burning,
My Muse caught in the fire,
On the bed of sunlight petals,
And the sunset,
Blinding is the cold of the flames,
Flashing is a thousand memories,
Burning is passion,
The passion in the hum of my Muse,
Going backwards - no sense of time,
History books, written and turned to dust,
The dust rests, sleeps,
Eternally,
On the books written in red, and read,
By a million eyes and voices,
Though not those who hear the song of smoke
And watch the sky burn,
But look and see the still smouldering ash,
Ash that fills our lungs,
Suffocates the dawn, still, leaves dawn still,
They listen to the quiet which speaks,
Speaks a thousand words,
Or none,
Resting on the meanings of words never said,
Feeding on the crystals and the sparks
The sparks fly up,
Up into the hour glass until it breaks,
Under the crushing hand of passion,
Until the powered glass coats the ground beneath,
Sparkles in the night,
Invisible by dawn,
Dancing in the clouds and smoke,
Like a child - my Muse,
This chosen child that carves my destiny,
Through the many paths of others,
Roads and the neverending foliage,
Scattered,
Scattered like pieces of a broken heart,
Spinning and dancing with the child, knocking the edges of everything,
And anything,
Watching love unfold,
Under the soft blanket of starlight,
Sprawled over fabricated memories of the leaves beneath,
May the sun and night tangle,
Beating together, as one,
One eternal breath, one eternal life,
Like the dust that eternally sleeps,
But time is impossible,
After so many beautiful arrows struck the tangled web,
And my muse cheered,
And the clouds dropped,
The smoke froze as a piece of unwritten history,
Sun, night, beauty and my Muse's gentle hum,
Need not be buried under the stars,
But written as a beautiful fiction