Our Heads Belong in the Clouds

Lids are not obstructing my view,
yet my gaze is stubbornly blind.
A monotonous monologue is
spoken at me, not to me.
Eyes are fixed anywhere
but where they should be,
unconsciously obstinate.
No one wants to listen,
their dreams are more inviting.
Our heads belong in the clouds,
where life is easier to accept
and getting up in the morning
is not a threat, but a privilege


Words by Lisa, with a special thanks to Bree for being an inspiration.

Spark

That night, that evening
those hours that passed.
That moment in time,
a magic was cast

A spark, a light,
a kindling fire
a glow in the eyes
that climbed ever higher

A deafening whisper,
a voice that spoke,
tapped on my shoulder
it was time I awoke

And so I was saved
my god I was blessed
my heart can settle
my eyes can rest.

No man at my door
With shame on his face,
Could sell me a vision
Without you in this place


Words by Lisa and Martha

Writer's Block

there must be a thousand ways
to break a cloud covering
with as much power to
make me re-think a pen-print

made first on a page
intimidating in it's effortless white
i'm standing cornered in a room i decorated
not with reason but remorse

hushed conservative darkness
spreading through the wavelengths
i never agreed to this!
numbing hesitation meets countless re-dos
i tell you, i never wanted this

it might be another story
if a metaphor was properly used
to express something beyond a simile - but
i'm sorry to say it ended there

...wearily, nonetheless gleeful
to be appreciated at all


-m.r.

Quickened Pulse

I claim to see little transition
Between day and sun-down
Obliged by passing colors,
To ignore them.

-m.r.

Words

I was moved without stepping
Those things he told me
I don't need wings
I have words to hold me



Words and Visual by Lisa

Endeavors Left Behind...

I see the eager souls
ready to capture life
to store in their pocket

But my pocket,
my pocket has a hole

My pockets are sharp
when they're littered
with this shrapnel

the remnants clinging,
clinging to the fibers



My hands are shredded
by the lost causes
the endeavors left behind

When will the wounds,
the wounds become scars?

Envy might be the devil's virtue
but who can really say
if that's right or true

When everything I ask
is just to be you
to be you

Words and visual by Lisa