A thousand years from now, we should have coffee and tell stories while the world disintegrates

created by izubachi

(poetry) by Evil Catullus (21.2 hr) (print) ? (I like it!) 9 C!s Wed Oct 04 2006 at 1:08:34

Do you remember walking late at night
through dark, deserted streets? I brushed away
a lock of hair that fell over your eyes.
We talked some, but it was in our silence
that we each felt a little less alone.
Later, we told each other fairy tales.

I liked the Snow Queen, you preferred the tales
where the robber bridegroom seduces night
blind maidens. Where the hero ends alone.
(I'm your Gerda, my Kay. Don't go away).
After the stories and tea the silence
crept in. You stood there, averting your eyes.

And I wanted to close those lovely eyes
with kisses, like some prince from fairy tales.
Instead, we each went to bed in silence.
I stared up at the ceiling all that night,
some things are too near but too far away.
You said you're afraid you'll end up alone.

I'll follow you, I thought. We'll be alone
together. You missed the look in my eyes --
the devotion. You search the distance, away
from me. But the stories in fairy tales
Are never true. They're just lights in the night,
They're just songs to cover the long silence.

My dearest friend in speech and in silence
maybe we're meant to be always alone
walking together (apart) through the night
talking of this and that. But why your eyes
inspire me to tell fantastic tales
Is something I can't answer. You're away

at school and, in my fashion, I'm away
too. When we talk on the phone the silence
deafens. Sometimes you regale me with tales
of other grad students, each one alone
with their genius. I remember your eyes,
and your voice still leads me through the long night.

One night, I'll scald the milk and we'll tell tales;
we'll break the silence and the world. Your eyes
won't look away from me. We'll be alone.

printable version
chaos

America: love it, or leave it	his whole life, like a thundercloud, out in front of him	You are so beautiful	You know my history in fragments and I know your life in sketches
A series of hurtful parables	These pictures are her past. These pictures are my future.	Take a deep breath and write out your thoughts for me	You are going to need to get a big princess type dress. I CANNOT fight for the honor of someone wearing cowgirl pjs
Our Lady of the Leftovers	My regret sits on the floor like someone else's polaroid photos	We're sprouting wings, metamorphosing, speaking in tongues	Er versteht nur Bahnhof
The Washboard Chronicles	If I could let the universe swallow you whole	Hunting 'twixt the bookshelves	You asked me once what I would remember... this, and much more
Together, yet apart	And the things you can't remember tell the things you can't forget	They shared a love of impermanence, briefly	Echoes of the sketchbook
How can we face these dazzling things, I ask you?	Through this warm electricity I will give you bark branches and leaves curling upward into a safe sky	your words... like wind through a wheat field.	To Think of Time

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