“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Saturday, December 15, 2018
a disenchantment of nearsightedness
We searched
each other.
Diving in
with our whole soul,
unafraid of the brackish waters,
darkness, mirth or depth
of each other's eyes
Seeking what we had
lost, once had, where did
we put it, over there, outside,
ourselves, and with the things
that keep us
apart,
Spinning wheels in alternating
rotations, going nowhere fast,
or beating our chests like hearts
and pinching nerves to make a
sound come out...
Oh No.
There were so many ways to say,
I see where you are going,
you are getting smaller
as you travel
away.
Painting by Lionel Constable c. between 1849-55, Yale Center for British Art [Public domain].
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