In a town where the words just don’t feel the same, I think of dying. White turns to black and back again, in a room where the doors have no purpose or refrain.
Falling down, I feel like I’m flying but I know that the ground will be the last sound that I hear. My mind takes me back to a place I used to play, when you and I were just good friends, and we knew nothing of despair.
One day we ran through fields, lost in the moment of the chase, without comprehension of a beginning or an end. Strawberry sundae sunsets collide in a space somewhere inbetween this life and the next. We stop to look up, seeing nothing but the place we have come to call our home.
Stationary clouds shroud a brightly burning sun, weightless in a sky that knows more than we could ever dream. Every blade of yellow-tinted grass sways gently, on the hope of better days to come. But rain will bide its time, waiting for the day the sun turns black.
Alone again, I’m still falling. Please stop me from falling further than before. In this room, in this town where every footprint is covered over by the sand.
(27th August 2009)
Artist, Writer, Visionary
www.riverhunt.org
