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  • Another glitch

    ANOTHER GLITCH

    Silk and forgotten Japanese
    Lovers of dawn
    Secrets for women to wear
    Prints on tea towels
    The comfort of the rocking train
    Not one live passenger, only freight
    Still soothing in heavy motion
    The ocean crest, our girdle
    Strings truss the crashing
    Land of sleeping eyes sip
    Softness of ash falling on mountains
    What country knows you now?
    None but a boy by three rivers
    And springs boost the roots of his willows
    Dreams of pandemic emerald wings folding
    Grassy cliffs leaping off
    Turned over and over
    With family unwilling to come or go
    No one dares that thought nor any flight
    None will delight in his lush valley
    Let us end while in the red sun
    And memories still maintain vibrant color
    Running fields towards
    Blossoms feeding the heart
    Your fingers that paint the streams
    Kissed by floating ghosts
    Revived with water paper
    Remembered in books turned pages
    Wooden shelves crafted by a father’s hand
    How simple are our forgotten?
    Switching darkness to light
    Rewriting history
    With cups full of the blackest ink
    The brow left thinking, was it I?
    In the merriment of life
    To teach sacrifice in shadows
    Freedom absent in the spider’s web
    Beauty in the rain falling
    Legs spread to except the master
    Glory to your peacekeepers and kidnappers
    Or the whores that fake orgasm for compensation
    Excepting bribes from liars
    I alone hear the birds of the city
    Nestled in singular trees with no branches
    Wires pulsing with welcomed sting
    Honoring me before I sink
    Save me before I become like you
    Unaware of the surroundings
    Structures giving birth to neglect
    Sanctified and captured
    Asleep on an island
    Encompassed by arrogance and persuasion
    A lifetime to erase all that matters
    Disintegrate into myth
    Perish in the fires of fabled silhouette
    Embracing mortality with the rest of humanity
    We didn’t know the bomb was coming
    But we knew we had sinned
    Now no one can rest

    RDS
    THE SECOND

  • #2
    wow this brought me so many places! thanks for sharing, a peculiar flow but it stomp stomped away, and that is good! some ineffable moments, like i said, drew me in, and i was shocked thru and thru with these ideas. How close we come in poetry, to an ideal of connection; -- I wonder, then, is this an analogical connection, in the subspace of poetry? Or in other words, is the ideal, once believed in, self reinforcing -- like how we can imagine we connect to places deep inside, and the endurance it takes to search -- we search thru poetry alone and sort of perform a trapeze act in order to transfer // transmit jewels. Jewels of little packets of meaning, or inspiration;-- fire! Hope fully I carried it, lol, and that made sense to you. We have an ideal of poetry that we can key into and actually that is the world, that is the truth of it and we bring forth from within through faith our own spoils or endeavours.! Phew, mouthfull. Peace, good poem, enjoyed.

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    • The second
      The second commented
      Editing a comment
      Thaknks am greatly as you and others here inspire i hope to do the same
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