Typewriter Series #897 by Tyler Knott Gregson
Text for Tired Eyes:
Take me to our places,
the stones and sticks in the green hills.
Take me to the rooftops made of earth.
The heather and the moss
and the warm rain that makes colanders of clouds and mist.
Take me to the fires that burn out in the night,
the embers dancing from the chimney to tangle with the stars.
The green lights that flow like waves in the cold still air
and the steam that rises from the tops of our heads
as we stay warm in the water.
Take me to the lanterns rising into the black,
wishes carried on flame and fabric,
prayers to all the gods we have never seen.
Take me to those high white peaks,
to the colored flags climbing center poles
and the breathless air we struggle to breathe.
To the mantra painted rocks filling freezing streams,
the gentle hands weathered old.
Take me to the swaying trains, the hands on the walls to keep our balance,
The sleeper cars and sliding doors, the crumpled maps in the reclined seat backs.
Take me to the cold mornings and the breath that rises,
sunrises on snowy streets, to the coffee in your hands
to the paint under your fingernails, from the logo on the styrofoam.
To the sand covered shores and tide pools that hold the sea,
to the sea that holds the moon and the stars that fall until you sleep.
Take me to our shared slumber in scratchy sheets starched too stiff.
Take me to the cheap hotels and take me to the palaces we will never afford.
Take me to the nights that never end, the lost and wander worn feet
that collapse into bed as the sun is rising.
Take me to the early evenings,
tired legs sleeping sound before the sun falls below the hills.
Take me to our places,
the creaking floors and our boots making songs atop them.
The dim lit pubs and fiddle dances, the globe lights glow the hour long talks
the quiet romances.
Take me down the old dirt roads, the rock walls and clover grasses.
To the green and the gray to the blue and the white.
Take me to our places.
Take me to our place.
To the tree that filters the light and scatters it like a kaleidoscope,
to the patterns on your face and the racing of your heartbeat.
Take me to the tree light and teach me of relief.
-Tyler Knott Gregson-
We are perpetually on the brink of utter ruin -
Or eternal salvation.
Such is the tragic beauty of our lives.
Always tipping between the two.
Unless of course you have lost yourself,
And been found.
Unless you have died to yourself, and have been raised.
Then, your feet are deep in utter ruin,
But you are irrevocably saved eternal.
Whole grain bagel with mashed avocado, fresh cherries, dark chocolate chips, and raw almonds.
My kind of meal!!