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ap-becksteadPoems
I am atom, I am quark, I am dust, I am ash. Fluttering in the breeze, mouth of the beast, from my pyroclasm there is no retreat, unto all the ends of the earth, the east, the west. I find a home among the dreams of man, civilization, ascension and degradation, here I am. I slip between the cracks, the grass mixed betwixt water and ash, winding through the leaves, upwards through the trees. My arms burgeon upwards, reaching for the sun, from whence I have come, drifting in the sky, and sifting through sand as I lie. Fruits bursts from my fingers, I recede and give way, on my way I go, oh how sweet is the sound. I fall and taste nostalgia, falling through such familiar leaves, a tasty treat. Churning and mixing, dripping and assimilating, I find that I can move, what am I now? Who knows? Off to the east, as far as these feet can carry, water and salt mix together in my teeth, slithering across my hair. I spy and unfamiliar creature, I feel unsure, unsure? I like it. She spies me and smiles, a smile? I like it. And that's the story of how we, came to be.
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Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 9:59 PM UTC
Travels of Common Experience
I am atom, I am quark, I am dust, I am ash. Fluttering in the breeze, mouth of the beast, from my pyroclasm there is no retreat, unto all the ends of the earth, the east, the west. I find a home among the dreams of man, civilization, ascension and degradation, here I am. I slip between the cracks, the grass mixed betwixt water and ash, winding through the leaves, upwards through the trees. My arms burgeon upwards, reaching for the sun, from whence I have come, drifting in the sky, and sifting through sand as I lie. Fruits bursts from my fingers, I recede and give way, on my way I go, oh how sweet is the sound. I fall and taste nostalgia, falling through such familiar leaves, a tasty treat. Churning and mixing, dripping and assimilating, I find that I can move, what am I now? Who knows? Off to the east, as far as these feet can carry, water and salt mix together in my teeth, slithering across my hair. I spy and unfamiliar creature, I feel unsure, unsure? I like it. She spies me and smiles, a smile? I like it. And that's the story of how we, came to be.
A.P. Beckstead (2013)
ap-beckstead
Written by
ap-beckstead
American
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 9:59 PM UTC
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