"blunter" poems
Sweet love, renew thy force! Be it not said
Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,
Which but today by feeding is allayed,
Tomorrow sharpened in his former might.
So, love, be thou, although today thou fill
Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness,
Tomorrow see again, and do not ****
The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness.
Let this sad interim like the ocean be
Which parts the shore where two contracted new
Come daily to the banks, that, when they see
Return of love, more blest may be the view;
As call it winter, which being full of care
Makes summer’s welcome thrice more wished, more rare.
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be blunter not, be no folly still:
this is our heartland's voice.
we are not this land's tenant,
nor are we the shadows that inhabit
light — this is out highest meed,
we go on with nobler steads.
languorous scraps of warfare
and a ****** of metal heed the
clarion call of our oneness yet when
it rains all shall rend in rust
as how our nation
furiously drowns yet emerges
victorious past the renegade of hours!
in it and from it
shall rise the true meaning
of our blood.
our large voices mellow down
in our guts outdoing our smallness - there is a river of
phantasmagoria yet its
rustle is same in its breadth in
our deep land. o, yelp never a lie!
consider truthfully brutal
affording solace:
it is our form reshaping our body.
it is our wills carving our flesh.
it is the dreams that are ensanguined
in us that forge the arms of
our fatherland: language!
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 6:55 AM UTC
Behold -- eternal damnation
burns
towards you.
A second of comfort, hand outstretched,
cupping,
cradling ****** constructs
your eyes remain void; fresh and yet frozen in time -
-- in space;
in memory.
The flashes, the strikes
-- the burning yearning agony;
the sharper the breath the blunter.
The penetrating throb -
the dismal brightness before you,
comforts --- cradles.
Jan 25, 2017
Jan 25, 2017 at 4:25 PM UTC
it moves
like the moon: full to crescent to nothing at all;
existing all the same until the next phase
it burns
like a knife; eventually less, as the knife gets blunter,
the desire gets weaker
Nov 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019 at 6:00 PM UTC