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A solid center presages
two generous edges
to shoulder the weight
of the curve: the bow
relinquishes tension
to the anchors of the
taut bow-string.

The wayfaring archer
tends to the curve,
notches the arrow,
selects the target,
gauges the wind,
surrenders --

Riding like an arrow on the wind,      
sure to find its mark in Breath,      
and the end of Breath it portends.
      

A reveler
abiding the flirt
of angle and arc,
finite and eternal,
arbiter of the holy
moment, the dance
linking death with life;

So unbearably
near the horizons,
desire yields its grip
to the coaxing
womb of the curve: tension
sighs into the space
between arrow-head
and its mark.

And in the transmission of feeling      
is the spirit of Life,      
clinging - so gently - to free itself      
of its own burdens.
      

A sudden violence
voids archer and stag:
Continuity rushes forth
to meet the sacrifice.
The heart of the bow
resumes its tension.

And the curve
evaporates,
all but a trick
of Timing.
Mathematically inspired.

Italicized portions are from "Memory Is A Prison" (http://hellopoetry.com/poem/557707/memory-is-a-prison/), a work of automatic writing the meaning of which is further illustrated here.
they say poetry is boring
I say poetry is a Goddess
exempting her patrons
from mortal bores and
group thinking legions
she kisses with the
certainty of words
and
manifests the glory
of effervescent moons
If you're bored, you're probably boring. Nothing new, there.
I carved our names on the tree
and then I set it on fire, to leave a constant reminder
of a love that spark, burned, and later died out....
She hangs crystals from the sun
Always dreaming

She streams her dreams
From magical strings
Yellow ribbons hang from the sky
She climbs higher each day
Hoping tomorrow will birth yesterday
She climbs, she dreams
She hangs crystals from the sun
 Apr 2016 Matthew James
Day
nerves eat away the confidence I have left,
little butterflies  trying to escape,
knowing what a desperate soul *I am
.
just an afternoon thought I had
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