Sunday, May 19, 2013

What Has Yet To Be

A pond of conventions,
Which way to flow?
I might prevail within this fence or choose to circumvent.
Impervious test, throw me to the flames.
I'm here, just listening
I'm here, see everything.  No judging
Lest I be judged.  No strings attached
Respect to each and every path.
Seasoned all winter isn't it grand?
The force of the weather drives me deep underground.
Forever doesn't seem that unpleasant or bad
I've a mind to be forward with what good sense I have,
Prefer the boring coronation?
Give me crowning of the sun.
I say, this spark has left me speechless
High and dry like you wouldn't believe.
Tossed up out of that ocean
Onto a dismal little beach.

Impression:
My feet fell well into the sand
My hand held trails folding into the wind.
Sweet breath from the sea
A season of change clashed and rattled
Attachment to these chains.
Sweet mother, love is in your name
To be held lightly and open
Like a moth towards your flames.
A stone to be appraised
Neatly sent sailing,
Well to mention and well away.
Approaching her gaze
Sinking into memories too intricate to tell, explain:
A soft call nurturing
A hillside all in flames
Atop tall walls hurdling
The broken glass of pain.
From the depths of insistence
An avalanche to name
Broke again in earnest,
Following the one.
Forget my paving
Covering roads just a bit too complicated
Watcher at the door.
A moth, a wash, a field of flames.
A mass, a reputation, the moon of refrain
Practically faded from my vision, one name.
The sun sets sailing, burning strong and plain.

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