Surreal Poem

I took a pen in fashion pink.

And a tabula rasa.

And burning passion was the ink-

The letters dancing salsa.

I start to write about your eyes

And stars - my destination.

And my sweet blanket are the skies

And clouds – a strange creation.

I write on fog, on rain, on snow,

And hope for the eternal.

And all the words - a perfect flow

For once a dying journal.

I’d wish you'd know they are for you

These rhymes from hell ascending.

But you are real, you have a view...

And I, a shell… descending.

© 2010 Lith Ium

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

I try To Make Time

I try to make time,

Inside vesicles of idleness,

And shout out particles

Of art and the enzyme

That catalyzes ceaselessness.

I bring ideas and forms,

To Beings and pray they would listen.

But empty eyes reveal the distance

From me and the worms

Of the dreams in crimson.

I write dimensions,

And force creatures in realms and beyond,

Enlighten them, yet they don't,

Appreciate my tensions,

Of which my spirit is so fond.

I end up alone,

In every chapter, every story

Without the climax of a glory,

Between letters of my own,

Never free, but fluffy, curly.

© 2009 Lith Ium

Tuesday, September 15, 2009