and wretched
and free to be me.
A ghost of the past, a
glimmer of future,
a wisp of my old self
weathered and wrinkled,
dying in the trite
a proverb in the making...
Adjectives just behoove me,
you take that glee.
A dusting of maelstrom
in jokey quota is where you are
and what was meant to be...
Honesty craves in fervid dream-
no one will really know me,
except in projection;
a silent actress upon a screen
of 3D.
Numbness has comfort
from vain and glory,
it's all just the same,
happy talky talk as
missing dreams.
Illusions are elusive
in the buttering buttress,
acid rain will wear over time.
The limestone left
drips in sadness
as tourists are taken
in by the cheap.
Demons hover and savor
in licking flames, as angels
cry upon fruited planes.
What's not told in the telling
lies open for turpitude
slithering into place.
In weariness and tide,
as backlash and foam,
waves ripple as untethered
dreams recreating the mystery
of what is all seem.
In best intent and wishes,
I'd like to believe that there's
solace in wash and new paths
in fresh mud.
In best intent and wishes,
ReplyDeleteI'd like to believe that there's
solace in wash and new paths
in fresh mud.
There is solace there
Agreed, unknownwriter49. Beautiful last stanza.
ReplyDeleteA humble thank to both poets... you keep me inspired with your own words.
ReplyDelete