When can a poem begin? In a dry throat,
knowing what words to say or does it begin
from finished experiences? Want to leap out
in far reaching forms in it’s enlarged arms,
full of thought and emotion. And if it’s fulfilling,
profond wisdom can be there, in complete
ways. For when I die, I wish for people not
to weep for me, for I’ve gone, I wish they’ll
forget, despite how easy it is to find me.
Coast to Coast, I’m across those harsh plains,
heavy torrent, ask the exiles. Between birth
and death. Everyday lived, is mine and if
I’m love, it’s between me and thy lover. For
I have something and went to it, ask the Devil,
I had grown tired of lost words or knowing
what I should’ve said, I've danced with the
Devil. People always want to change but
remain the same. The truth will be not be found,
until it’s believed, as for that, humanity can
avoid it, along with reality. Do not weep for
me, for I’ve crossed over and wish never to
be spoken to, I’m not hard to find, I chosen
something most fail to see. As for poetry, the
best kind is always a paradox and mystics is
too good.
(come creep with me)
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 10:08 PM UTC
When can a poem begin? In a dry throat,
knowing what words to say or does it begin
from finished experiences? Want to leap out
in far reaching forms in it’s enlarged arms,
full of thought and emotion. And if it’s fulfilling,
profond wisdom can be there, in complete
ways. For when I die, I wish for people not
to weep for me, for I’ve gone, I wish they’ll
forget, despite how easy it is to find me.
Coast to Coast, I’m across those harsh plains,
heavy torrent, ask the exiles. Between birth
and death. Everyday lived, is mine and if
I’m love, it’s between me and thy lover. For
I have something and went to it, ask the Devil,
I had grown tired of lost words or knowing
what I should’ve said, I've danced with the
Devil. People always want to change but
remain the same. The truth will be not be found,
until it’s believed, as for that, humanity can
avoid it, along with reality. Do not weep for
me, for I’ve crossed over and wish never to
be spoken to, I’m not hard to find, I chosen
something most fail to see. As for poetry, the
best kind is always a paradox and mystics is
too good.
(come creep with me)
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