A Twist of Red

A Twist of Red
By: Bryan Olson

Bring me the lyrics to those songs
That the hues in her cover silently sing.
A twist of red births the brightest of lights,
Followed by a scattering of waves.
(I fell)

Follow roses into the color that shelters heaven.
Shadows resist the path to this contorted circle,
(bouncing off the shared essence that connects)
Though she transformed her white canvas,
(welcoming energy)
Yellow has never looked more fantastic.

Spilled Silence

Spilled Silence
By: Bryan Olson

Give me that raven haired goddess reflected in my rear-view.
So many years spent with others behind the wheel.
(taxing)
Multiple fractures have extended to the outer layer of my mind,
Causing an incomplete understanding of the impact surrounding this unique conundrum.

Suppressed like oxygen
(trapped in jars)
I could hear the pop resonate throughout the tainted glass.
Without worry of sound levels in my universe,
I drift on the fields that flew between the buds that taste.

Thoughts float outside my sill of that face, and those eyes that spilled silence into my ears.
(few remaining have seen the magpie dance)
Those encounters that left me hollow.
It is not what did or did not happen,
But rather the entire ironically irrelevant yellow spin thrown in my direction.

I remember those months vividly,
(like a dream within a dream)
Laughing with a furious passion (just as contagious as Ebola)
Falling onto each other, before every time felt like the first.
Now I walk in an avalanche, receiving the echo of a mix-tape that blackouts my heart.

Piece Of Time

Piece Of Time
By: Bryan Olson

There is an underlying thread that rides the wind passing over my frayed lips.
If you have a day open, I invite you to sit with me.
Share the essence of life with another in an effort to expand the perception we both possess.
Just stare into these eyes and offer up your silence if you feel that is all you can give.
Twenty four hours.
At this stage it is nothing close to a lifetime.
You may find me dancing on the tips of your eyelashes, or swimming in the water left in your ear.
A minute only lasts as long as we look at a piece of time.
In doing so, we find that there is only enough left to take on what we must.

The Greatest Of Slumbers

The Greatest Of Slumbers
By: Bryan Olson

Somewhere in the air between my fingertips and my feathers, an epiphany is born.
Next to the polls on my sanity, detailed lines are drawn.
(run to the tattooed light that cleans blackened nails)
Ropes of energy wrap around like a full-body halo.
Driving until the dawn is reflected in the falling life before me,
Absorbing their stories into my essence, I float on to the next.

Overflowing eruptions of systematic thought,
Break through the layers that came after the greatest of slumbers.
They flow into the ether,
And like lightning,
They strike,
(charging air and swimming in skin)

Fearing the fearful,
(for they have devised the most unspeakable devices)
Walking in reverse, to cover my tracks.
Yet every autumn I fall into the pools I have been so careful to avoid,
(an Aquarius swimming with the koi)
As thoughts wonder into the clouds that shower us with traffic.

Sixth

Sixth
By: Bryan Olson

The flagrant fragrance of those formidable foreseers,
Facilitating the forecasting frequency of foul forbearance.
Fitting in fractured fights and fickle frowns,
Flawlessly feeling facts found from facing forever.

Graphite

Graphite
By: Bryan Olson

The way thoughts poured out of me, I knew something big was happening.
A question.
Memories long forgotten and words lost in graphite.
Teaching lessons in the most graphic way possible.
Bound by wire and stiff cardboard
The scent so familiar, with time only grows stronger.

The magic I held in my hands
How clear my visions became.
I still read this token from my past.
Pages full of wisdom I was not aware I possessed.
Flipping through my past brings a certain coolness to my soul
That black notebook and the secrets it still holds.

Thirst

Thirst
By: Bryan Olson

Living vicariously through music,
Pouring myself onto paper,
(like the toxins in my glass)
Waiting for words to run out.
Though they never do.

Not caring where the letters come to rest,
They gush from inside like a waterfall.
Feeding the earth around me with memories,
Growing vegetation so I can gather energy to once again create,
(a pattern only healthy for an artist)
Even then, it cycles.

Waiting for the clean break that will never come.
Digesting every moment.
Comparing what is and what never was,
Takes its toll.

We could have been a beautiful pandemic of affection.
But other events,
(of lesser perfection)
Laid in wait for our demise.

The urge to once again soar is greater than the will to let these wings fully recover.
However with the remembrance of my journey,
I dive into logic,
And try to rest this tired essence.

That once familiar sculpture,
Now gathers dust in another’s collection.
Carelessly I was tossed aside while waiting for an honest answer.
(I should have seen the signs)

Just so you know,
I always tried.

Follow Feathers Like Breadcrumbs

Follow Feathers Like Breadcrumbs
By: Bryan Olson

Caught for years at a time,
Offering up sacrifices for false truths.
Finally crossing the bridge I started so very long ago.
Once I am safely on the other side,
I’ll set it afire,
(for now I know)
One should never look back.

You want me,
Come find me.
Follow feathers like breadcrumbs,
And you might find one with your name on it.
(If you look hard enough)
Searching for coal to mark your battle cry,
For pink and blue will only give you away.

Failing to comprehend that after years of trying,
You are still empty hearted,
(alone in a crowd)
I know you will go far with your deception and lies.
If you were ever good at anything,
It was misleading everyone about everything.
Good luck with your cold cellar of deceit, and attic flooded with the tears from your regrets.

Rings of Ash

Rings of Ash
By: Bryan Olson

Those eyes hit a soft core,
But the maps on her arm said something else.
(a nest) surrounded by mold.

An unhinged jaw leaves reminders of the future.
Wonder is better left at recess,
That construction is far from over.

True colors can be deadly,
Treading with care so as to not disrupt waves of hostile design.
I revert to the tomorrow I saw in myself yesterday.

You pull wires that protrude through dead connections,
(too late)
Only falling to the earth will bring upon your change.

I jump into a red universe,
(surrounded by rings of ash)
And ride into infinity.