ryanlache

you're beating that rhythm on the same old drum the same one and you're falling asleep again i must give you fair warning to wake up my friends to the sound of the same drum you've beaten all these years we are aware, and there's due time to spread the sound but our drumming has driven these people from their town we think it's time for us to change our ways maybe the drum's not the only instrument that there is to play the last town played the flute and this town the harp the trumpet in the town before and the piano before that each one we successfully evacuated from its home until now when the hills are struck with silence the o

Dear Dad, I know it's getting late, but if you have a minute 'fore your rest I'd like to take the time to get this off my chest, if that is fine with you I have some things I'd really like to say before I sleep... The sun was gone six hours ago; I'm missing it so much, but I don't mind 'cause when the summer comes I'll get to see it all the time, and when it rises you have painted such a sky. It's something I will always be in awe about. Take this change and silly wishes, they are all I have to give right now.  I know it's not so much, but I'll pay you back somehow. Maybe years on down the road I'll spend it all, but not a

little shell, how'd you get out of the sea freed from the rocks and sand into my fragile human hands your outside's all scratched up but inside you're holy the waves crashed around you and drowned you but everything inside you is still pure and whole this caged rabbit soul of mine longs to run free in the spring grass and thyme but its paws are strapped to the ground and its ears are pinned down so it can't hear even just the faintest of sounds its eyes forced to adjust to the darkness making each stray ray of sunshine taste fine like warm summer honey on his lips the bunny laps each drop for sustenance and all at once the sun

you, a blessing in disguise, unguised for only my eyes, picked out of my life, dragged five hundred miles away. every day you're present, absent, hung before my eyes like bait i'll never reach; i'm heaven-bound, but stuck on solid ground. small pieces of you rest before me, help out to restore me, feeling you beside, inside; it opens up my eyes, momentary glimpses of your day; it shows me why i feel and act this way, wanting you and longing for you, the untouchable and fleeting one. my strides towards paradise are futile. the time just passes by, neither of us beside. only passing times together, so much through so little

(It's back again. ) I never understood the sandals, even when we're on man's plane. Maybe for the souls who inhabit the streets of Heaven, but their feet are so frail, the golden streets too real, their fragile bones would break at rest. We spirits, though, we seraphim, who do not even inhabit the golden streets, who stand watch over the Heavens, singing great songs of the Lord o'er all the earth; we wear these sandals, not for protection, but humility. So when the souls of men set eyes upon us, our great wings encasing our spirits, they will feel almost equal to us, as we deny ourselves the sweet sensation of sole against Heaven. Yet here I

the moth outside is much more welcoming than the caged black bird by the fireplace taking up the room it needs to survive in my home, i'm scared that i'll never grow up boxes pile up on the floor in the basement filled with my refuse and unloved abandon cars lined up on the street in a row and the things pile up with no one to take them five-pointed stars shine light on the cage and the counter is cleared for the evening meal holy ghost answer, but the phone's still off the hook a caw sends the boxes all a'tumble in the home big man said there's a guest needs a'welcoming too late to send a letter, too dark to read suit, tie work

dirty-soled servants entwined within the system in the masses, scuffing up the sidewalks with their feet system shuffles over rubbing in the soil the people can't see their white walkways turning earth-coloured the tainting of the feet bleeding into the granite and the feet of the servants blend in even more the smocks rubbing shoulders when they pass in the stations the wives wash the suits but the dirt washes in and the suits of the people get darker and the suit catches on with the shirt and the dress the whole wardrobe infected from the shoulders the tone of the servants blends in oh say no please don't let him in he wears a

every time it rises, the sun blinds us. it finds us in the darkness where we sleep; we rise, shut-eyed, to hide our fragile minds, much more transparent when the light shines through. so afraid, but so dependent on it, hunt and play in the day, but hide at night, we know what's wrong and right, what's black and white, and yet days look drab and nights gain appeal. once bound by light, but now we make our own. your home a shrine to your own invention, encapsulated in itself; you hide. outside the light is blocked by walls you made. we make our darkness here as light as day; the black of space becomes so appealing. you build your