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My inspiration

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  • My inspiration

    MY INSPIRATION

    My inspiration swells
    I love you all
    Even on the tip of hate
    Tragic past and memory be cleansed
    So be the crochet that cloaks
    And the knit that seams a wall
    Your memories and words be woven through
    Contemporary machine
    But your fingers bleed from weave
    And no machine seeps
    That is how I know love
    And my son passes through heaven
    Knowing his link
    And my father’s mother accepted his rose
    After her own children’s death

    RDS
    THE SECOND

  • #2
    You bare your soul, the second, but that alone does not make for powerful poetry. You bare your soul in a way that sings and weaves, and 'a terrible beauty is born'.

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    • #3
      I completely agree with Mr. Hayes.

      This sings out, rings out pain, longing, beauty.

      I especially love

      So be the crochet that cloaks
      And the knit that seams a wall
      Your memories and words be woven through


      Comment


      • #4
        Well done, the second.

        bleeds from weave. That is a peculiar phrase. Weaving with needles? weird the phrase weave is without -ing.
        Is weave a noun, or a verb?
        So the fingers bleed from weave, and the machine can't bleed, --love bleeds, then? Explains why insects don't have real blood, they have no feelings lol.

        Being silly...

        Very clear phrases which didn't require much to reverberate in these ways.

        I have been thinking about mortality and what causes so much suffering is the unhealthy attachments... though my worry about close people dying can't be quelled, not so easily.

        The weird truths of living in flesh.

        knowing his link, that worked well to really wrap the piece up and tie back together, ... Your son, and your father,.. Passes through heaven could be speaking about coming 'to' earth; although the rest of the tone of the poem indicates that it's plain, it's grievous, it's painful.

        But the mature voice of the writer 'seriously' shines through, in this polished work.

        Comment


        • The second
          The second commented
          Editing a comment
          you speak to me like a Saturday night, a child without a stay over, a dream with no awakening. My child was born after my fathers mothers death It was a prayer that he or she would gain strength from her in the crossover

      • #5
        when you're absent i look forward to your return with such bursts of creativity.

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        • The second
          The second commented
          Editing a comment
          I bow beneath the moon and its children a child of nature i would die for Thank you!!!!!!!
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