13.3k views, 2xBest Poetry Period. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind. |
Cotton, woven, linen too perfect in reverence of gentle white greetings it would be new anguish to stain. Then, the tub’s the thing — though it soothes — it’s with purpose to serve a soiled soul with stains to drain each red moment tide-bled from eternal life clock, ticking, ticking, ticking off. Oh, but be a burden to the maid that must scour? So, with the life-nourishing water tapped, spigot-ever-sending, purge an outpouring until every last sap-drop drowned. And yet, could a soul vanish in wood somehow-never-found except by hungry mongrels to sever worried flesh from pale bone upon receiving ground? Maybe, walk into a fire so intense it disguises all remaining hope of a life not lived well enough to tell? What worry to have been a burden so small unworthy of comfort of bedding, a bath, a walk in wood, warm fire that sparks the fleetest gleam in a lone moment. Thoughts entertain a soul not-ready-for-bed in this quiet undead void of endless night meandering. What if I’m gone? Since, I seem to be less-than-sheets-suds-roam, and another rekindled sunrise of-no-surprise at all? 11.12.23 Let’s not speak of this…too easy to entertain idle thoughts…that progress from room to room to open door, down a highway to hopeful non-existence, freedom of burden to roam as unshackled spirit wherever my mind wants to take me…since, no true home but inside my mind. Thoughts progress, the wider the maw of existence unhinges jaw to receive a thin-thin-pale soul washed awash, never-ending… and-it-just-goes-on-like-that… …dashes blur like yellow highway stripes toward highway oblivion… dot-dot-dot… Do words ever… |