I'll walk you home.

I'll walk you home to your encrusted paintings, stale with water colour stains and signs of dried whispers, deceitful like an amazing play by somebody who knows how to fold the most imaginative techniques, and that of wet cloth and delicate fingers. In the silence of the captured moment, I know you are using little scraps of paper dipped in vivid taste and water, plotting your move about the canvas, but never by conscience. You are wilful at your art, your only master and servant. The word rings in your ears, music licks at your bones. Like a horse sans harness, silent hornets make up your necklaces and many times painted over clothes. As you work steadily, your veins dance beneath your skin, through it and out onto the roof, lain open by window. A chill breeze is all that keeps you going, as weak health and poor behaviour leaves you blind to fatigue. Until you are overcome, you will paint.

Until you paint, you will sing. I hear in the distance, what's that, wait, words unspoken. They are unspoken as you cannot hear them. I will propose to understand; that they wish you to leave your dreams behind, that they will you to deceive yourself in an attempt to be more like them. What wonders they may have seen, once you move before them, I dare think they have peeled their eyes out of their sockets, hid them like common marbles in old boxes and dusty rooms. Coated as you are by their darkness, you shine. The pain lessens, does it not? When you sing, I listen. And your dreams are safe, having taken flight somewhere alone, somewhere in your books, somewhere in your eyes; there's gold shining there, amongst the ocean.

You walk me home. Through thorny gates and abandoned fox grooves, underneath the paws of animals and above the crowns of old trees murmuring. I rush down the path of cat eyes and bird chests, painted red; we come upon the rain, and you speak my name. I know I am but the attempts of love through colour, stains on paper, the cloth that never wipes the paintings; I shall never hear the words of the world.

Sag"a*more (?), n.

1. [Cf. Sachem.]

The head of a tribe among the American Indians; a chief; -- generally used as synonymous with sachem, but some writters distinguished between them, making the sachem a chief of the first rank, and a sagamore one of the second rank.

"Be it sagamore, sachem, or powwow."



A juice used in medicine.




© Webster 1913.

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