ruscena-wiederholt1554330778 Ruscena Wiederholt

An autumn poem, falling from the top to the bottom!

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Cycling from the top to the bottom
Tiny cracks beginning to appear, water seeping, drip by drip,
Cuts across my ribcage, scars that remain,
At dawn in the mist, the rest of life.
awaits to be destroyed and rediscovered,
permeating through my veins,
The light rises, reflecting off flesh and blood,
Strength reveals its own fragility, shattering these careful intentions,
Neatly wrapped up.
hidden, yearning to be found,
flooding out, it puddles on the floor,
I gaze at the ceiling, on the wrong side of things,
My feet were meant to walk on the opposite aspect of life, stepping over doorways and chandeliers,
All these bubbles, threatening to burst.
just under my skin,
washing away small pieces of soul,
Silence embracing me in its arms,
I am unprepared for eternity,
Lightly evaporating across my skin.
these intricately linked, small steps,
sliding past,
Like images reflected in a window pane,
Imprinted for one note,
I have taken the wrong train, led by a star at the crossroads.
down a path in the twilight,
finally into place,
Pebbles tumble in the outgoing tide,
Better I had never visited that place, caught in the trance of the moon,
Pieces lost, drawn to sea.
flowing, sinking, to a metamorphosis,
ensnared in a puzzle,
Searching, endlessly, for a life behind the mirror,
That I have never cradled
Imbibing the sweet, slow languish.
of innocence.

6 июня 2019 г. 2:20:43 0 Отчет Добавить Подписаться

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Ruscena Wiederholt "And what is good... And what is not good, Need we ask anyone to tell us these things?” - Robert Pirsig


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