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n-r-whytePoems
Do you, little child, Fear your blank slate when nothing’s inspired, but you see a flag Which paints itself on the face of Someone else’s moon? And do you, little child, Know the pain of a thousand plain feathers pulling up and further With nothing but hollow bones and Grey sinew beneath? And do you, little child, Realise that the anguish of loss which comes with every edited word Is bygones is bygones is bygones Gone by? And do you, little child, Understand that a shoelace which appears at first to be two strings is actually One road to the end overlapping again And again? And can you, little child, Fear more than the dark day’s end, or the eight-leggedness of tarantulas, And worry instead for the loss of your Creativity?
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Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 8:10 PM UTC
Fear, Little Child
Do you, little child, Fear your blank slate when nothing’s inspired, but you see a flag Which paints itself on the face of Someone else’s moon? And do you, little child, Know the pain of a thousand plain feathers pulling up and further With nothing but hollow bones and Grey sinew beneath? And do you, little child, Realise that the anguish of loss which comes with every edited word Is bygones is bygones is bygones Gone by? And do you, little child, Understand that a shoelace which appears at first to be two strings is actually One road to the end overlapping again And again? And can you, little child, Fear more than the dark day’s end, or the eight-leggedness of tarantulas, And worry instead for the loss of your Creativity?
n-r-whyte
Written by
n-r-whyte
Canadian
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 8:10 PM UTC
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