Death

A vision begins through the eye
the spirit resolved in weaving
of fates intertwined and dying

You are woven without shame
the redemption is a cloth laid bare
and you stand in nakedness

Truth unfurls like a mast: blue,
uncontrollable, a bottomless meaning
on which we sail, ongoing
We ask ourselves this day
where the wind will take us
where the sea will wash us
are we cleansed in this process
by which we are taken
from sunlit harbor
to rainswept pier?

Uncontrollable, the rolling waves
The maker must be unmade
the vision must be born of blood
The lines of red must point the arrow
the death-drenched dirt of the unpaved road
These feet must walk, unprotected

Emotions born on stones
bleached white from summer suns, like bones
from those who came before, unmoved
by the promise that someday
the road would end.


D.B Rocca, 2011

You are a summer where I have no purpose

Catch the braided roses
A forest of radios
protects the energy blossom
that radiates august...

August: that was when I became an oracle
Ask me something important

-D.B. Rocca, 1996

Running down a central reservation.
Last night's red dress
And I can still smell you on my fingers
And taste you on my breath.
Stepping through brilliant shades
Of the color you bring
But this time, this time, this time
Is whatever I want it to mean.
If this is where memories are made,
I'm gonna like what I see.
And everything I ever took for granted,
I'm gonna let it be.
I step through every shade
Of the color you bring
But this time, this time, this time
Is whatever I want it to mean.

And everything and nothing is
As sacred as we want it to beWhen it's real. Make it real.,
Compared to what?
It's like living in the middle of the ocean
With no future, no past,
And everything that's good about now
Might just glide right past.
I'm stepping through brilliant shades
Of the color you bring.
But this time, ths time, this time
Is fine just as it is.

And everything is sacred here,
And nothing is as sacred as I want it to be,
When it's real.
Compared to what?

http://beth-orton.net/

Suspicions

Old and cold and filled with ghosts
Your house on unnamed streets

The faded foes you served as host
Now hover at your feet
interwoven fingers form
A ring of outstretched hands
To call upon the spirit storm
Your memory commands

In dusty half-light,

pale with fright
These strange aparitions
fill the vapors
with sickly whispers
Of gentle suspicions

A fragrant smoke that's tinged with sage
And the arogance of youth
A cardinal in a copper cage
And ambergris to seek the truth
Within the flaws of crystal orbs
You find yourself transfixed
to task the gods and ancient lords
with potions that you've mixed

a divination
By thin maidens
of stern disposition
Stir the caudren
Of all you hold in
To brew your suspicions

I gaze into the looking glass
These monstrous scenes unfold
Where saints of old sleep below the grass
Their secrets still untold
But there upon their molded lips
Confessions bloom like fire
To reach again with blazing tips
Of uncontrolled desire

Sacred voices
Speaking choices
with every vision
In the mind's eye
the divine lie
Of all these suspisions

In the half-light
trembling in fright
You make the decision
To hear the whispers
The gentle whispers
Of all your suspisions

-D.B. Rocca, 2011

In the mornings
I was anxious
It's better just to stay in bed
Didn't want to fail myself again

Running through all the options
And the endings
Were rolling out in front of me
But I couldn't choose a thread to begin
And I could not love
Coz I could not love myself
Never good enough, no
That was all I'd tell myself
And I was not well
But I could not help myself
I was giving up on living

In the morning
You were leaving
Travelling south againAnd you said you were not unprepared

And all the dead ends
And disappointments
Were fading from your memory
Ready for that lonely life to end

And you gave me love
When I could not love myself
And you made me turn
From the way I saw myself
And you're patient, loveAnd you help me help myself
And you save me

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BpV8j8P994U