Recycling poetry

When we are children,
all we take in
is Poetry.
In adolescence
we lean on Prose
without punctuation,
growing longer to gauge the resistance
of rooftops attached to support beams.
It seems maturity makes less time
for more meaning,
the old begin shrinking time
too little to learn anything less
than Poetry.




Painting by Eero Järnefelt, 1895 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Scratching heads, Sniffing tails

Do you remember how it was 

before we found zero?

Everything had value

and volume

that occupied more than space.

Would it be a lie to reminisce 

about the days before we found fire?

Why

it was black and

white Then powerfully portable

to ashen grey 

as it smolders to day.

This is why they burnt everything they

wrote.

Nostradamus was nervous,

rightly so, paranoia will destroy 

any weak one in its path.

Have you considered what was 

eerie to Einstein should stay 

Unknown, no?

Theoretically,

the words slept green and furious

and letters 

stopped coming...

There was nothing before-

Us, the Big Bang, the Virgin Mary,

a flaring forth, why 

is the sky blue-again?

Truth be told,

matters only

in youth. 

And then the missing link

before Us.

The radiant sun, 

lights the night and moon

in twirling moods, the pi spinning

itself in dark matters,

starlight never seemed

so bright and worth while...

Painting by Jan Mandijn (circa 1500–circa 1560) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.