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  • Agatha

    from the bristle of the voice in this field of violets,
    to the absent sound of the moving footsteps coming closer, and the ridge
    around which we travel to find this place; from sorrow's edge,
    the waterfall and the holy rest: we all get lost, here we're more, again.
    we all sing this searching song to find the note, from darkened skies, to the eye
    which looks upon without blinking, and watching from afar all ways,
    and the other eye to it impossibly attached: with its sightless seeing,
    bound for some kind of calamity, not even able to move or make meaning.
    this eye which wonders and the meaning is gone; this eye that never shut.

    it goes from the page of the book like a hushing;
    it's fear from the fearless and strength
    from the drained; falling like water and following one path,
    it drops and rises in its cyclic motions, grounding.
    droplets cover this backlit sky, it's raining so loud.

    everything is frozen in this moment, and doesn't move, nor do we.
    there's nothing but the broken clock sat upside down,
    and the hint of some kind of bloodless afternoon threatens me,
    but the others. the others which i could know have gone,
    and that leaves you.
    Last edited by amenOra; 11-24-2019, 01:05 PM.

  • #2
    this is very excellent to me truly thank you a.m.o


    • #3
      This has a hauntingly beautiful flow. Nice work.


      • #4
        Hey guys-- thanks for checking it out. hope you're all doing well, peace and love.