“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label dark matter.suspense. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dark matter.suspense. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 16, 2016
Cryptic
The higher you rise
up where
the air thins out-
this is where the words find shape,
and demonstrate a sense of self
in clouds, collectively
condensed.
As stars do-to become
the letters eloped without utensils-
or implements, lightly
from thin air, trace
this thinking feeling is rain...
Astrologically out of touch
with dark matters, in suspense
hanging on the line-
elliptic.
I will wait and watch warrily,
until next time.
See you
around.
Painting By Henry John Stock (1853 – 1930) (Blouin Art Sales Index) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
Drizzle
The muse has been muted while we are both listening for some reason- we have both observed; Profound is not discovery, Epiphany is no certa...
-
Natures touch is both gentle and fierce. Homo sapiens trample on her back. The thick skin impossible to pierce. So...
-
A year ago this May, in fact, upon this same very grey day- something came over me I found could say, in no other way but to portray, ...
-
Sun lifting the veil of purple sky- might bronze forge strength pungent as the turned dirt? Thirsting through exposition, hi...
