“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Friday, October 16, 2015
Kinesthetic revival
Born out of our inertia state
while silently
our senses
are sewing
our patchwork genes,
to Be
delivered, redeemed, undone
the blank slate begins,
to write it all off
a pattern to follow
blindly, numbly, not for us.
Not able to notice earth's busy spin
its constancy keeps us safe
centrifugal, reactive, unresponsive
never the less, we regress...
What's more, Those, they
(such as We) that feel
First-
and make sense later.
We don't walk into webs,
our antennas always on high alert.
Hyper-sensitive, ultra-receptive,
gut feelings or (not)
knowing and acting
instinct and intuition
dreams become reality
-we enjoy-
coded messages
defying gravity
while carrying burdens
throwing our weight
testing our substance
hoping to make an impression
in the sand, on the sky
shooting for the stars,
hovering in a black hole
gravity swallowed whole
floating in Nirvana
and residing there
easing into eternity
for never and sway.
Image by I, Luc Viatour [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), CC-BY-SA-3.0 via Wikimedia Commons. Water on web.
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