Epic Sketchbook Poem (2023) 222.7s Recording (Sep 19 @ 3:33 PM)

Platinum_Lemur

over the top - Sep 2

Platinum_Lemur

trip hop, darkwave, math rock

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[Verse 1]
The distances between
here and there
unfurl
like banners in the Jetstream.

Time itself unwinds
like the spring in a broken toy.
Signals to you and I.

Signs, reaching out,
I stand in the middle
 of the tracks,
far beyond what eyes can see, beyond the curve,
horizon to horizon,
sunset to sunrise
and stars;
to the moon
above and below,
I feel the future
 inside my heart.
[music builds]
The storm is the music
we dance to.

The "big ugly" is here
 and the flavour of time
itself has changed.

The beat of this drum;
it's upbeat,
offbeat, tempo,
expressed in flourishes
 of odd jazz,
perfumed with 80s New Romantic
and post Punk.

Standing precariously
 crooked,
hoarders at war.
Heated, turning against
one another,
they betray each other;
Throwing out each other's hoards
behind each other's backs,
instead of selling them.

Blind to the other's worth,
becomes trash with the exception of one's own trash.

They annoyingly mumble
 and howl lyrical
to the algorithmic beat,
 which distracts endlessly.
neglecting duties at hand in a vicious circle.

All are consumed by, and drowning in their own demons.

In the eye of the storm
there remains:
shelter
for a lost butterfly.

A fragment of beauty;
a jewel of nostalgia;
the winds of a hurricane could rip what remains of hidden gems and precious unseen wings.

Kevlar; titanium; massive and Titanic.

And then there I am,
insulated in calm;
 blanketed,
bundled in cashmere
waiting in warm scented candlelight.

Watching the trees dance as if it were their last dance
as they twist and sway;
yet they do not sway me.

Bells in a distance chime;
low and sombre
on the winds.
Far, carried away
to their logical conclusion.

Far too ancient to be a butterfly;
too weighted;
too lethargic
 and flawed
 to drift on air,
unable to let go
 and change direction

A heavy bronze song,
 the bell sings,

an illustrated journey of ghosts opening doors to the past;

my heart flutters
like a living fossil
 of all that has been.

Like a dodo bird, crashing flightless wings
 against the cage
of my heavy gold ribs
it is captured
forever;
eternally,
I reflect.

It might be
all there is
or ever was,
or could be.

[outro]
And I,
in that moment became
 intensely aware
of how faint and
small I am;
naïve
in my
love
for you.

2269/7500

[Verse 1] The distances between here and there unfurl like banners in the Jetstream. Time itself unwinds like the spring in a broken toy. Signals to you and I. Signs, reaching out, I stand in the middle of the tracks, far beyond what eyes can see, beyond the curve, horizon to horizon, sunset to sunrise and stars; to the moon above and below, I feel the future inside my heart. [music builds] The storm is the music we dance to. The "big ugly" is here and the flavour of time itself has changed. The beat of this drum; it's upbeat, offbeat, tempo, expressed in flourishes of odd jazz, perfumed with 80s New Romantic and post Punk. Standing precariously crooked, hoarders at war. Heated, turning against one another, they betray each other; Throwing out each other's hoards behind each other's backs, instead of selling them. Blind to the other's worth, becomes trash with the exception of one's own trash. They annoyingly mumble and howl lyrical to the algorithmic beat, which distracts endlessly. neglecting duties at hand in a vicious circle. All are consumed by, and drowning in their own demons. In the eye of the storm there remains: shelter for a lost butterfly. A fragment of beauty; a jewel of nostalgia; the winds of a hurricane could rip what remains of hidden gems and precious unseen wings. Kevlar; titanium; massive and Titanic. And then there I am, insulated in calm; blanketed, bundled in cashmere waiting in warm scented candlelight. Watching the trees dance as if it were their last dance as they twist and sway; yet they do not sway me. Bells in a distance chime; low and sombre on the winds. Far, carried away to their logical conclusion. Far too ancient to be a butterfly; too weighted; too lethargic and flawed to drift on air, unable to let go and change direction A heavy bronze song, the bell sings, an illustrated journey of ghosts opening doors to the past; my heart flutters like a living fossil of all that has been. Like a dodo bird, crashing flightless wings against the cage of my heavy gold ribs it is captured forever; eternally, I reflect. It might be all there is or ever was, or could be. [outro] And I, in that moment became intensely aware of how faint and small I am; naïve in my love for you.

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