Perfectly shaped pieces jousted
with the abstract and wavering
emotions that speared through the
veins. The ship in the
bottle with a symbolic life
of its own, breathing your dreams
like any gust of air, assimilating
into your conscious like an ashen,
fantastic spectre gliding through
the vortexes of purgatory.
How can a small, decrepit ship
trapped and beating forcefully
against a wine-tarnished bottle
spin you with fate's silk
so heedlessly..entrapping you
in a cocoon of regret like a spider
until arachnid legs sprout from your
coal-tinged eyes, shifting frantically
in every direction trying to claw
out of your sockets and into the
gravitational pull. Let the despair
flow freely from the grottos of
your visage..open your eyes wide for
the atmosphere burning sunset..
and..realize that..
symbolism runs rampant across one's
brain. A small trinket of
disreguarded unworth to me, encapsulates
every message that your brain
has ever received..cherish your connection
and entrust your genuine dreams
with the small tokens of symbolism
that sit idly in your life. They
will listen to you more than any relative
or friend or blood-and-bone cadaver, they
will act as vessels for your dreams
even when your heart untwines itself
from the hands of fate's grandfather clock.
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