Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
guido-orificePoems
Is this not the true romantic feeling; not to desire to escape life, but to prevent life from escaping you. -Thomas Wolfe When the rain falls flat in the rough plane one morning & the stark meridian sky hauled by night before the sun rises not like any day, serious & sullen silk same. When you walk on the earth hearing your footsteps tossing stones and hurled mud like how you hit and hit the letters from your womb in the dark swollen night soon to burst like a pulsar where even silence tempts not to hear again the pulse & let silence devours the cloud. Ah! When the rain falls flat when you walk on the earth this little autobiography tells the life so cold and brute squabbling, wrangling like a supernova missing its due perhaps a century, perhaps a second but who could tell when one about to implode will he be the same being again? The tealeaf shivers in the rain not in a cup. This, of course, is not a myth but a thousand telling noise of nominal truths soaked in ashes of those leaves burnt in the midday sun kissing that no one, even a wind could ever remember but just a tiny hissing or was it meant for a long hush hush.
0
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 10:37 PM UTC
A Little Autobiography
Is this not the true romantic feeling; not to desire to escape life, but to prevent life from escaping you. -Thomas Wolfe When the rain falls flat in the rough plane one morning & the stark meridian sky hauled by night before the sun rises not like any day, serious & sullen silk same. When you walk on the earth hearing your footsteps tossing stones and hurled mud like how you hit and hit the letters from your womb in the dark swollen night soon to burst like a pulsar where even silence tempts not to hear again the pulse & let silence devours the cloud. Ah! When the rain falls flat when you walk on the earth this little autobiography tells the life so cold and brute squabbling, wrangling like a supernova missing its due perhaps a century, perhaps a second but who could tell when one about to implode will he be the same being again? The tealeaf shivers in the rain not in a cup. This, of course, is not a myth but a thousand telling noise of nominal truths soaked in ashes of those leaves burnt in the midday sun kissing that no one, even a wind could ever remember but just a tiny hissing or was it meant for a long hush hush.
#poetry#tom#wolfe
guido-orifice
Written by
guido-orifice
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 10:37 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem