— Wendell Berry (via observando)
How many books until it’s a library?
How many trees until it’s a forest?
How many drinks until it’s an addiction?
How many pills until it’s an addiction?
How many cigarettes until it’s an addiction?
How many words can you cram into a casket?
How many times did she whisper “but I love you”
until it felt like a scream?
How many screams until you shatter?
Every hand I held squeezed mine as the climax
then let go as the finale.
One day we will be holding hands.
One day you will urge me to let you go.
One day I will find a balloon to replace you.
And tied another one in your hand,
until you longing for your hand in mine.
I’m no longer a Saturday night in July,
and you are a Wednesday night December now.
I’m afraid you aren’t just the prologue
but also the epilogue and every chapter in between.
Maybe you’re the final sunset I need to watch.
— Sarah Saniyyah
The storm outside our window,
its name was mine
but I’ll never break through the glass.
They broken like a sidewalk
explored by too many soles
Disassembling surge unearths the ground you sleep on;
all life and dead walks while you dream.
The night after, the sky isn’t literally clear.
"it is unfortunate that some of the prettiest
sunsets can be seen due to pollution”
They know not the dust who keep sunsets brighter than sunrise.
Dust can be a cloud of finely powdered earth,
the sky is made of dust.
The sky is literally little broken pieces
of the earth being reflected by light
No one cared about the earth until it broke
into little pieces and made the sky
Phantasmagoria revival; all he is
he made up of the most ancient light in the universe
In the summer his eyes were a field of
Now September is here and
he hate the way I danced circles around him
until the air turned to twine and entangled
the two like love and ache tying The Knot.
A touch of Modesty, I know you have seen her.
She’ll always be your ocean and I’m just your sewer
No god nor slave can be released in the eyes
of the predator. No God, no dog, will hear you.
He loved clocks so much he became time and stood still
The holes in his apologies are bigger
than the ones he left on the walls and I
can’t tell what is shaking more: me or the house
He never really get over his first balloon
Then I remember I (wish I) have the you that
nobody else gets.
— Sarah Saniyyah