hey peoples. I have moved blogging central to tumblr...

you can find it at stonewall.tumblr.com

or by linking through my new website :P

stonewallmonroe.com

something? something.

xerxes but not (a sonnet)

brother, thy anonymous name

selfless, selfish, (droplets falling)

run and run and run and run (droplets falling)

hang on a bit, a bitter fame

the existence of a plane

in which a house exists (droplets falling)

where the earth is steady (droplets falling)

where a man can be sane.

a home

not hurtling

just born

alone

not hurting

just morn

desert (a rondel)

come back to me

fill, rebuild an empty cup

and it is you that interrupt

why would you desire to be

any feat burdened by the sea

wind burns, and stings the lips

come back to me

fill, rebuild an empty cup

calloused by degree

cracked lines disrupt

cracked nails enough

lack taken for plenty

come back to me

smoke and mirrors. though I'm not quite sure what they are for. I've brought them.. here. if you were wondering. so now they are here. I have a jar of smoke. and a jar of mirrors. carefully and somewhat jealously I guard these little treasures. Ah via musicom. So much for luck. Anyway. it's true. I sometimes get worried and nervous. Though at the moment it seems that doubt which I sometimes have has attached itself to something different than usual. It seems that when I work out with my own brain the beneficial path, well, it doesn't quite work out that way. But maybe someday I'll get shoved in the right direction.

not sure how to name this

you are afraid of the cliff

I am afraid of the fall

you are afraid of the silence

i am afraid of the noise of

you are afraid of death

I am afraid of missing you

you are afraid of leaving

I am afraid of not missing you

come look at the moon through the window

see it smiles with a borrowed glory

the end is not beginning to learn

how to live with a broken hand

you’re broken at the gates

and offered all you’ve ever had

on broken plates

chipped and all you’ve been sad

come look at the moon through the window

see it smiles with a borrowed glory

the end is not beginning to learn

how to live with a broken hand

see the little girl play, she sings so sweetly

watch her feet play the sand and her eyes play the melody

come look at the moon through the window

see it smiles with a borrowed glory

the end is not beginning to learn

how to live with a broken hand

COPYRIGHT 2009 WILLIAM STONEWALL MONROE

magnete poetre