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Love is the universal element.
Attention is the universal currency.
Together we embark on celestial
Missions of ordinary urgency.

Gathering up mountains,
Effervescently iridescent.
Cloaked to me like thunder
Clasped to a forlorn crescent.

Details of blue,
Flashes of indigo,
Orbit the thoughts
That think through their howls.

Reminding us the wrongs
That we’ve fought.
With patience and wisdom
Of spiders and owls.
abp & icp
Out of the sea.
The air a splendid cage.
Gasping upon the surface,
Born to change.

To fight for fins, for wings,
And crowds form against the rock.
Patterns shimmer across skins.

Glaciers shape sound, sickness gets in,
And we fight for fins and wings.
Foundations empty for totems,
To fall in.
First few verses. Written in 5 mins and may, just may be the first piece I paint my debut series of works to.
he'll be seen with
others of his sort  
for they travel in
a drove's escort  

he's not an Angus
nor a Hereford  
yet he's of the
bovine accord

over the centuries
he's roamed inside the Utah state
so he can find food
for his stomach's sate  

the first nation people
will symbolize him on a totem pole
as this represents
his strength of role

if you can guess what
animal he is
you'll be the one
to solve the quiz
K Balachandran Jan 2019
A totem am I,
Double helix memories,
Of DNA history!
Nis Jul 2018
Among the garbage and the flowers,
forgotten between stars,
abandoned by their creator,
who probably didn't even exist;
a poet is born.
They care not much for their life
for they've seen through it, they know.
Not different from their peers,
not new in their painful world,
sometimes garbage, sometimes a flower,
maybe forgotten, maybe a star,
certainly a creator.
They know and are known,
they love and are loved,
they hate and are hated.

Among the garbage and the flowers
a totem is erected, its life decided,
it's grow is determined, forever.

Among the garbage and the flowers,
between the poet and the totem
a poem falls and makes a soundless noise.
Dutiful in its love and hate,
it loves the totem and hates the poet.
It moves, unmoved and unmoving,
away from the poet to the totem,
it races towards an unseen goal line.

Among the garbage and the flowers
a photo is taken,
an image of a poet, a totem, a poem.
Something calls your attention
you look at it, and they are gone.
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