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 Jan 2018 Paul Butters
Poetic T
I'm a trapeze artist of  word
             flying through sentences,



But
           then I
                        fell
                             and my words
didn't balance so well.
We
all
falter
on
our
meaning.

We just have to realize,
           that were cant balance
       all the time, sometimes words fail..
"Traversing"

The vastness of the universe
Ignites my soul
Thoughts burst forward
Traversing the void
A shimmering mist of awareness
I drift
On the silence
Of infinity
I merge
With the power
Of a billion suns
Worlds In A Breath

I
collect
letters to form
words/into sentences
phonically sound it out/loudly
making sense of it in my head, a speech
lauded from written lines/marching armada of
meanings. A Book which defines them, these ants of
artful communication,/ for when they are upon each other,
they build paragraphs/to pages,/pyramids of chapters telling a story
a creation of imagination/a documentary of salvation,/ a novel for you to
sit in your wonderment, to hit you like a pile of bricks these books in a library
                                     they
                                began from
                       a tiny creature called a
                  letter, like an insect it colonizes
              into a hive abuzz in activity & possibilities
    grows the more it knows like pyramids erected in Egypt        
beginnings from a grain of sand / thoughts and  imagination                 and
                                                                                           questions /                  
                              musings  stacked                                              like stones on foundations,
                             to/find/a/home/in every/memory, louder/than thunder   or/death  
                                                                          creature futures doubt
                    
                                                         I form                            
          Worlds in a breath ....        
Letters into words take flight
                                      from the hearth        of my mind                            
                                 from the heart                  in my breast
                              to the universe                            in our nest                      
                     the mysteries                                             the  gifts of
         W a r m    r e v e r i e s                                     T a k e   i t s
                                                R e s t . I n . P e a c e .
The shape did not turn out as it was suppose to.
lullaby raindrops*
softly fell on the tin roof
their pitter patter
sent one off to deep repose
*hushed of speechless embrace
love's sating river
streams through adoration's heart
beautiful of theme
slowly the fog creeps
in our township's sleeping streets
dense is its heavy shroud
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