22 April 2015

Postcard 22

Sometimes, oh I feel like red dust tapped down by the rain. Sometimes, oh I feel so much pain. There is a name for rocks in the salt-flats, pushed nowhere by so much wind. Sometimes I wake with a stone on my chest and from there its all uphill. Sometimes, oh I lack the will. Sometimes the wind and rain just want to rest. There is a bone-white plain, its also blood-clay red. Sometimes its a pillow to lay my head. But I would be a blanket upon it, fine and pure. I was drowning but I'll be dry. Sometimes I have dreams I am flying, but I am falling I'm sure. Sometimes, oh I feel like the rain, and its all coming at me so fast. But there is a downy bed beneath me. Sometimes I don't mind a little pain. I will shatter to a mist, my body will cover the land. Sometimes I don't want to, but I know that I must. Sometimes, oh I feel like a raindrop tapping tapping down. Sometimes I'm tapping red dust, sometime I'm tapping the white plain.

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