"shimmered" poems
Life and non-Life are part of a system-- a "system-like" system, but one nonetheless.
Where Entropy's that which is hidden from us--
and Information without meaning is total chaos.
But hold.
Poets, Bards & Thieves.
Of shame, of game, of blame, they speak
of secrets on the leaves.
In more or less a drunken mess, their simmered shimmered consciousness
could barely rarely quite express what causes them to grieve.
After some hesitation and liquid persuasion, the only collusion this final conclusion:
*Pain is entropic; Extra-sensory stimulation
received as distortion via sensory limitations--
Confusing the mind refusing the signs, forcing us to shutter the blinds.
But what is behind? Unveil pain's curtain and what do we find?
Contextualisation, possible causation-- Mind-Body integration without hesitation--
palpable, abstract Information dissemination!*
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
She left Reno
in a satin slip
the color of hot coins
pouring from slots,
wearing chewed-up tennis shoes,
mirrors multiplying her,
the marquee burning out
letter by letter,
a hush pressed between her teeth
as if saving the last note.
I followed,
a gangly shadow,
mother’s voice in my ear:
"life is not a freeway exit."
But she was the exit.
She drove west
through a glittering throat.
In Tonopah she was a waitress,
red stains on her wrists,
sleeves tugged low,
coffee pouring thin as blood.
In Barstow she was a sun-bleached Madonna,
halo blistered, mouth lit in stained glass.
At a gas station in Needles
shimmering into a coyote’s shadow
and slipped behind the pumps.
Then movement along the fence,
low, quick—
gone again.
Casinos blinked like electric relics.
Truckers called her sugar,
greedy hands counting her ribs
as if she was the paycheck
sweating in their fist,
but she slipped away each time,
her silhouette already moulting-
a serpent skin, a smoke-trail,
a saint’s shadow burning off the wall.
By Malibu, the night
had softened to velvet.
The pier at Zuma
leaned into the Pacific
like a broken bridge.
She sang to me—
low, cracked—
then let the slip fall.
Her body cut into the dark tide,
no disguise.
I waded in after her,
ankles bruised by rock.
Water lit with jellyfish,
each pulse a warning.
I stopped where it deepened,
felt the pull take hold.
No exit left,
just the Pacific’s mouth
closing around her.
Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 8:08 PM UTC
In fair Verona where Will set the scene
Belle Fortune moves the markers up and down.
Two households both alike in dignity
Fiercely compete for fear of losing ground.
When Juliet saw Romeo at the dance
Events were set in motion that, perchance,
Would see fair Juliet as our Romeo’s bride
but ultimately result in her suicide.
With Tybalt and Mercutio both dead,
And Capulet and Montague estranged.
Young Paris sought fair Juliet to wed
not knowing of her loss of maiden-head.
Romeo was banished for his crime,
a sin for which a peasant would have died
Their two households, joined because they wed,
remained divided by their foolish pride.
Summer’s fierce heat shimmered in the air,
oppressive in the absence of a breeze.
With Friar Lawrence’s help, Romeo’s girl played dead,
as if struck down by some unknown disease
Romeo , in Mantua, heard that his Juliet
Lay dead amongst the sleeping Capulets.
A draught of deadly poison he obtained
So they might sleep together once again.
When Romeo met Paris at her tomb,
Words led to swordplay, leaving Paris dead.
Would not the world have been a better place
if Romeo had kept it sheathed instead?
Unshriven, Romeo drank the poison down-
the only son of Montague now dead.
Perchance just then fair Juliet revives
Bereaved, she took his Dirk to bed instead.
Authorities, arriving at the scene,
could only mourn a brace of kinsmen lost.
Capulet and Montague were reconciled
Their amity bought at a fearful cost.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 7:47 AM UTC
walking through the woods i was surrounded by a plethora of golden bronze amber leaves tumbling in the wind sparkling with a star fire that evanesced from their jagged edges upon their descent. i stood entranced, mesmerized, utterly hypnotized by their glorious magnificence. i observed with intensity as a golden bronze amber leaf never having been attached to the majestic tree had no need to let go but gently released. feeling no trepidation it wholly lacked desire for manipulation to control the forces of the wind. i watched in awe and wonder realizing that it never disengaged from the tree knowing that separation is an illusion; it simply became the wind. whirling it shimmered in the autumn sun as it wafted with no need for reins allowing its destination to unfold. gingerly cascading it settled tenderly on the ground resting comfortably in ambivalence. i sensed it did not cringe when it was picked up by an unsuspecting boot but intuitively knew immediately that it was being carried and dropped off serendipitously at an auspicious location. i listened to it intently and drank in its essence as it simply lay in being not obsessing over what would happen consequent but sat in sheer stillness seemingly encompassing all totality. i was stunned to see that it lingered without judgment in undivided clarity for what wild synchronicity would come. it quenched its thirst in mystery while being completely at home in uncertainty. the golden bronze amber leaf seemed one with all that is while simultaneously retaining awareness of self-perception. as a gentle gust of wind coalesced with the beige fall sky it literally merged with the momentum enjoying the ride to its perfect destination. with delicacy it rested cozily in ambiguity whispering to me that heaven is a state and not a place. i vow surrender to black and white existence pledging fearlessly to climb higher creating life with vivid vibrancy adding golden bronze amber to my palette of colors with which i’ll paint.
©2016 janetaylor
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 5:37 PM UTC
Barefoot as she'd left her sandals on the beach. Her tight sundress barely concealed the sight of her ******* her smooth flat stomach, and tight *** As her skin glowed under the moonlight, She looked so alive, so **** and so ready. Her short hair danced in the wind. Her dress shimmered in the breeze as if it was silk dancing in the sky. He moved down her body, with my eyes, like the hands of a skilled masseuse touching every inch of her existence. His gaze wrapped around her like a belt, holding his attention.
Jan 11, 2023
Jan 11, 2023 at 9:35 AM UTC
It started gentle and subtle,
a light kiss upon my soul;
euphoria's kiss.
A smile broke,
my blood shimmered,
my heart leaped.
What could this possibility be?
Euphoria's kiss, my dear, is none other's than your own.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 1:41 AM UTC
One day I built a snowman.
I shimmered in the sun.
It sat around, always smiling.
Always having fun.
One day most of the snow melted,
But he was going to last.
For a mountain of snow would never melt,
Even if it went to the past.
One day the snowman was still there,
For it was built for my mom.
With it's royal hat and carrot nose,
It looked it was going to the prom.
One day my brother's friends came over,
Being crazy all around.
The took a stick and pointed at the snowman,
And knocked it to the ground.
One day the base of the snowman began to melt,
As tears filled my eyes.
Yet in my freezer near the back,
Is where it's head still lies.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
When I was cold,
my surface was so predictable.
An icy land allowed me
to be alone, distant, safe.
One day, the sun came,
and changed my frame.
The warm wind melted everything.
I became defenseless saltwater.
Untamed tears,
chanting my past lives
hidden in the drops
of who I was
and what I longed to mean.
With time, the calm waters
turned clear and soothing.
The particles of light shimmered silently
in the fractured space,
being so gentle, like a healing touch
lost in the dark past.
Now, when a strong wind blows again,
I'm so afraid of my untamed waters.
I don’t want to hurt,
I don’t want to be hurt.
Without shape, without frame,
I’m so strong and fragile
in perfect duality,
like a fierce ocean seen in fulfilled light.
I hear this endless symphony
calling me to the definitive solution.
Apr 25, 2025
Apr 25, 2025 at 5:57 PM UTC
I was once a boy who believed in words dipped in magic
Carefully coated with sugar
From a distance, they shimmered
whispered fog in its wake
surgically dipped into your heart at hummingbird speed
these sweet tender words were easy to swallow
however leaves a burning hole in your chest once it finds shelter in your body.
Even though your lips produced sweet words
I could never get the sour taste out of my mouth
The most you could have done was give me something to wash it down with:
the leftover tears in Samantha Thompson’s eyes
above Wedgefield’s polluted night sky
somewhere in the middle of an empty field inside his pickup truck
between the words I’m and Sorry
the cleanest and most deceitful of them all
I doubted every word.
I never cared much for the empty spaces between the lines of college-ruled paper
They are only meant to be filled with even emptier phrases
If I could, I wouldn’t fill in any spaces in the time we were together
It would only make our story much more incredulous
Adding more would make us less real.
Two hearts in love need no words
but in reality, you did most of the talking
The ***** blanket of faith
is a cocoon of words shared only between you and him.
We, however, were alien to this Earth
We dissolved amongst the shadows of light
produced from lampposts, only to be thrown back into the light
whether or not you wanted to show me who you really were
You always fancied yourself in artificial lighting compared to natural lighting
Fearing the natural light would show the colors you only kept to yourself.
Lovebug ran to each light as quickly as he could
for these lampposts can only cover so much of the unknown
We’ll be together forever
He ran to each one until he was alone
Until he couldn’t find himself
Each shadow that was passed before can be seen, traced
however his new reflection is indiscernible
You can try your hardest to look into dry puddles
only to find something that is not so concrete.
The only words worth believing in are the ones that are burnt slowly afterward
Entre deux coeurs qui s’aiment, nul besoin de paroles.
But no matter how much the lampposts grow taller,
or how the spaces between ruled-paper continue to dance, the word
love will always be the easiest word to swallow
but the hardest to digest once it rots in the thick of your stomach.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
She moved towards me like silk moves in a breeze. Her glow was soft, yet strikingly strong. Eyes brown and big like an oak tree in summer with rays of golden sun stung throughout. She moved as if an angel slowly awakening inside her. Her long brunette hair shimmered as it gracefully fell along her shoulders resting upon her ******* I would call her body smooth like softly blown waves in the sea, but no justice would it give to her. Her smile could make any woman stop in her tracks, just to appreciate the glorious happiness it brings. Her laugh brings joy like the peace nature brings in solitude. A total eclipse of winters cold, only allowing warm spring and summer. Hips a sailboat rocked by a beat only she could know. Sweet kisses with lips that taste like the most perfectly ripe fruit. Her hands touch as water does; politely gracing your skin and leaving you with droplets slowly fading. Her glance love-filled as a lover of many years might look at you. She is beauty from the inside out; she is graceful with every step; she is everything I want, and so much more.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 10:12 AM UTC
Etched in a lilies bloom
Tastes of him were born;
Beneath an attic sky, a sleeping heart, listens to his tune,
Her hands, small cathedrals, catching the heat of his dark...
Summer, shimmered beneath a midnight sun;
Flooding moments,
Feeding his mind through her tongue,
A vibration, milky blue ....notes rubbing softly upon her skin,
Oh! how her pores sung his finger tipped tender.....
A half light of fingers, stroked memories through shadows,
A skin of kisses, shivering on starry pillows, fusing the jet velvet;
Gauze, skimmed a ghost, un-woken between light and body;
As the flute of larynx, unhooked, softly in shadows of reflection,
Spilling amber
Upon a necklace of optimism...too delicate to wear.....
His heart, cradled the curl that fell across her face,
It danced in his fingertips,
Endless ribbons of tender Love, dripped from veins upon
Her skinny jeans,
Scarlet stained
Ripped...
He whispered "baby", and rocked her with his hips;
The ache in her thighs missed him,
The sweetness of him;
Breathing silence, upon her pelvis,
A cat's cradle; scented with orchids;
Upon a canvas of aching skin...
Ravaging, raking needs, spoke tongue's
In the drape down taste of heartbeats,
Arousing the fire of Summer's gentle slope;
The spiral of her heart, cornered, wild;
A quiet suffering, soothing her breast,
In a moonlight of dark songs...
Heartbeats, she thought,
Are but night whispers..... fading in and out of time,
Lingering on the edge of now, to
Fall softly, into a misty world of someday;
Somewhere, in the stillness, his voice whispers her heart,
Beyond forever, washing wishes in the sea........
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 2:42 PM UTC
They were all looking at the bubbles then it popped.
“Argh! My eyes! Ma!”
“I told you, you’re not supposed to stare at the bubbles when it floats right on your eyes”
“But it’s beautiful and I see the mini-rainbows while it wobbles in the sky.”
The mother and the child went staring at the bubbles floating as they fly above the orange skies.
He blew another, carefully - eyes shining with excitement.
“Look, Mom! This one is bigger! I blew it slower than the other, this one will not pop.”
The cold wind blew with the ruffling of the grass as if clapping.
The bubble wobbled and wobbled on the orange sky
Passed by the resting sun, magnifying its beauty, it glittered.
The boy’s eyes shimmered in excitement.
Pop!
“Not again!” the boy sighed in exasperation.”
He asked, “Where do bubbles go when they pop?”
She looked at him intently.
She smiled, “they become the clouds, like tiny bubbles watching over us.”
“Why would they watch over us?”
“For in time, they will know that the sun will burn our skin, then they will come as rain.”
“Well, let me make more bubbles, so we can play with You in the rain.”
Don’t Forget the Bubbles
Dec 4, 2019
Dec 4, 2019 at 3:38 AM UTC
It had been one of those enervating days,
when officialdom and red tape paperwork
had ****** the yolk and marrow leaving only
a dullness that yawed the ghost ship of her frame.
She decided not to cook, as much as
payback for her ordeal by proper channels.
And so to the "Toilet Bar", cafe of choice
for malicious villagers, though rarely women.
The men folk hardly stared upon her entrance,
by now they knew those leopard skin boots,
that packed a wallop they grudgingly took
stock of, then returned to their cheese and wine.
This was her quarter of salt cod with cream,
prepared by owner Paula and daughter Carolina,
the only other women tolerated amongst the chairs,
that smelled of tar and testosterone.
Lacking collars three tumbled to the stony street,
drunken mechanic, one armed plumber, peg-legged sailor,
the kerfuffle amusing her, their wicked aunt.
Another Lagoan night that shimmered out to sea.
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 5:54 PM UTC
When ranchers decide to do a thing,
Sometimes they just go through it.
What follows is a little fling
A neighbor did...don't do it.
The clearing of the land requires a little fortitude
Some ingenuity, and luck, and not a little courage.
So A.D. Volbrecht's story, though a little crude,
Is only strange to those who eat milk toast and porridge.
Rather than tear an old house down to clear a farming space,
A.D. enlisted help from his oldest son to haul the thing away.
Together then, the two grown men took on a moving race
To see if they could jack the house and move it in one day.
The morning saw a Donahue, low slung and meant to haul,
Waiting as the house was raised, (unsteady on new legs)
Then slowly lowered down again. T'would make a feller bawl
To see the old home place prepare to pack its bags.
Son Zane began a steady pull to move the old house home,
And A.D. took his place in front, flashers and flags to warn.
Slow going was their pace, and traffic stopped up some;
The actual move was tougher than the plan they'd formed.
So seven miles became a half a day, and challenges arose
How ever would they move the thing through town?
The power lines and traffic cops were obstacles; who knows
What kinds of tickets they'd be writing down?
Up ahead the airport gleamed, the tarmac shimmered black.
"Aha!" old A.D. cried, "I've found the way around!"
Hard left he turned on a county road, and cut the fence in back
And guided Zane and the old home shack to airport ground.
Western Airways flight was due sometime that afternoon;
Old AD rattled on up Runway One, old pickup running fast,
To find a gate to let the old house through, (and none too soon);
The tractor and its load sputtered through the parking lot at last.
In June a few years back, a farmer and his son pulled off a heist.
Stole some runway time and cut their journey short...
No harm done, though they'd never do it twice
Without winding up defenseless in the county court.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
I was in my dream last night...
The girl in my dream was a self image that my self conscious created.
She had long thick curly hair running down her back like a wild river,
and There were these thin wisps of black curls that rested on her forehead and would not budge no matter how many times she swept them aside
The ensemble she wore was rich in color
I admired the way the colors complemented each other
incredibly lively and elegant
She wore an azure tank with an emerald silk scarf
A Celeste cascaded long skirt embellished with tiny vibrant glass beads that shimmered ever so brightly
She was bare foot but i couldn't help but notice every step she took
On her ankles were anklets that dangled the prettiest of gems
She walked towards me
Her beautiful clothing dancing against her body
She sat next to me on the curb and said
"You look sad, what is the matter?
i can see the circles under your eyes
the insufficiency of laughter
Your heart and your mind are intertwined
You convince your mind to keep you in a dark place
then your heart crumbles leaving your care-fee spirit behind.
These are simply realities you must face
you know, things fall apart
so better things can come together
it might break your heart
but believe that hurtful moments don't last forever
Sometimes in-explainable things happen
sometimes the going gets tough
but you cant allow it to break your spirit for too long
The sun will rise again, sure enough."
Then, just as she gracefully came,
she gracefully left
I Awoke.
She left me with my sadness
for me to decide.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 9:09 PM UTC
For you knew of the girl whose cheeks were so pink, they'd be mistaken for sweet peas.
And whose skin could be misplaced for dogwood.
Tongue as innocent as the boy that cried wolf,
And eyes as golden as yore.
You knew of that girl, count every school day,
Where she walked through the door, head bowed and heart prayed.
'neath those bangs, whose color is as dark as our breaths, and as shiny as false tree,
Whose eyes--exotic--bluer--bluer than a thumbtack and bluebells set out by sea.
Whose eyes are mismatched by plentiful lips--small as the silver spec on my shoe,
And shimmered 'neath sterile light, as if she kissed the face of Mt. Rushmore, too.
With those high lips and V-line chin, which connected with her pencil neck to her petite body,
No ******* or bottom, with legs as thin as stilts and as blinding as our phones,
She holds the body of a cradle, and sings like a tongue-less canary.
Always kempt and proper--her hair tied back with a lovely noose.
And shoes worry not of dirt--for she never played outside.
Resting 'neath maple-wood trees like a bunny--face and knees tucked by arms, and that's where they reside.
Many boys had asked for her hand in play, but that bunny went deeper--deeper into the flesh hole she burrowed.
"Painfully shy, she was." They said.
And that pain was her devil.
For you knew not the cause of those florid, pink, cheeks.
Whose purpose means nothing but dead machines.
Whose eyes rung bright--struck the world alight,
Yet, they themselves could not see.
For you knew of the girl whose cheeks were so pink, they'd be mistaken for vintage bust,
And whose skin could be misplaced for bile.
Whose eyes mistaken for lust,
And face mistaken for tile.
For you knew of the girl whose cheeks were so pink, they'd be mistaken for heat,
And whose skin could be misplaced for bleach.
For again and again and again, the belt beats.
And hello to endless ******
For if you drew closer and closer--and closer, you see,
Blue waters and purple veins clash--wash again and again 'gainst land--and befit the word: queer.
For if you drew closer and closer--and closer, you see,
Innocence knows no bounds and eyes no longer see flavor,
For if you drew closer and closer--and closer, you see,
Exotic eyes bled--rained--pink--and pink--and pink with grand fervor...!
For sometimes it may frighten you to know,
Not all persons are truly healthy,
even those who you hold truly dear.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
Once upon a time paradox
There was a king in a castle of rocks
The castle was tall and to all who saw
It shined and shimmered by light by Law
The king was happy until his vice
Showed him a castle of rocks could not suffice
The reason this castle needed to change
Was because of the House of Endless Strange
The house shined so great the king shielded his eyes
He secretly hoped it was all lies
He ordered his men to work so fast
So he could have a castle of glass
The workers watched their hands turned red
As the king’s greed was joyfully fed
The castle complete from tip to feet was seen
To shine and shimmer by light by moonbeam
But the cost of this king’s vice
Was to be paid in an unforeseen price
He went to war with neighboring lands
And the catapult launched stones to every man
He did the same to the House of Endless Strange
And they smiled at the stones he gave
To react they attacked to throw the rocks back
And SMACK! The glass cracked since it lacked
The ability to not crumble
Under every rock that made it tumble
The king was to rebuild his castle, you see
To the castle it was once to be
Once upon a time paradox
There was a king in a castle of rocks ...
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 10:45 PM UTC
an octagon tent
wide enough that chucking rollies
to the sand made impossible
sprawled layers
you turned to quote Dali
told me how pale blue washed with lucy
shimmered skyline into dimension
acryllic-smeared sass drips canvas
into murmurs circling dilation
dimethyltryptamine stains
painting dreams on my eyelids
with flowerbrushes and silk,
mushroom dust gathers in discarded hues
on your pallet, where the colors of your irises
dry into a nebula of night-blooming jasmine
the scent of how you move when you sleep
and sleeping is never so sweet
as dancing through lucidity
with you as my sheets.
and i've traced your thumbprint so often
i'm sure if it were stretched around a marble
like buffalo skin on spirit-caller drums,
a globe would be seen
in which Greenland is finally proportionate--
the map on my wall always bothers you,
but I do too, and everyone does,
urging me under the geography
etched into the sea of your surface
by the crucible of your purpose
and working me into
empty behind your right
below the 22
between i'ching
and the forty two names of god
clasping your fore in silver
copper wound around my finger
hamstrings woven like wire
kambaba jasper, two to share
you hang Tibetan tektites
to elevate space
meteorite fragments
lodged in your helix,
stardust blood,
mandala sand from your mother,
and our tendons wrappe
by dexterous carpals
make such a pretty pendant
of my heart,
for synesthesia mistakes not
and my addiction to the pen has eased
for you breathe murals
and syllables never could
match brushtrokes of carbon dioxide.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
.
*A midnight wave of shimmered light
caresses soft this slumbered shore
Of moonbeam whispers on the night
in ocean scenes and moments pure
To find upon this beach we lie
our glistened skin in stardust gleam
Beneath a diamond dusted sky
alone amidst a seafoam dream*
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 7:18 PM UTC
Are we now not on two different planes?
Hearing new songs in lay, in sideways borograbes
By your feet too do these crisped, grey leaves scatter?
These humming autumn inscects remind me it doesn't matter
That shining floral fantasy is now merely fauna
I smother now the tinted leaved cantaluna
Can a buried flower blossom and grow?
I yearn not to care or know.
This old marigold once shimmered with light
Age and decay resisted any honest plight.
Henceforth I am the seed, waiting for the warm sun's yawn
These boyish locks now retire, waiting for a new man to dawn.
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 3:33 AM UTC
i was walking around
in the Tate
on the Thames Embankment
London that day
it was hot hot hot
the heat haze
shimmered
above the river
like the sweat
that rose off my back
i saw you
all mixed up
with Picasso's
misplaced eyes
in Malaga blue
long necks,
curved limbs askew
morning balconies
the sculpture of a goat
made of a basket
***** ram
with a bicycle seat
we weren't allowed to ride
i kept thinking
of painted naked flesh
Velasquez, Degas, Matisse
and flying to Malaga,
Barcelona, Granada,
Paris, Venice, New York
all the cities we could **** in
over and over and over
if we ran off
together right then
any cheap hotel room
with a bed
and a shower
would do
we could give up
on looking at art
completely
screaming
meaningless
poems
words
endless
passionate
words
consumed
by life
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC
"Do not judge them,"
She whispered softly,
"You may be old,
But you have yet to live as well."
And they stared at her,
For the first time in decades,
With eyes wide with wonder.
"But I have seen so many things,
I am certain I know more."
"No,"
Smiled the crone,
Orange eyes twinkling like starlight.
"You know what you know for yourself,
And yourself alone. Your wisdom is yours."
"Shouldn't I make my wisdom theirs as well?"
Cried the playwright.
"They're making too many mistakes, I have to fix it."
And still, the crone continued to smile.
"Their mistakes are theirs to make."
She reached out and placed a hand upon the playwrights' paper.
"Just as your wisdom is yours, their experiences are theirs, and just as valid as yours."
She took the quill from the playwright, and tucked the crow's feather in her hair.
"Allow them to grow without your bias."
"But I don't approve--"
The crone gave the playwright a bright smile,
Though her eyes were dark,
Which ultimately shut them up.
"Your place is not to judge. It is to nurture. It is to guide."
She said softly, though her tone was much more assertive.
"Then let me guide,"
The playwright began.
"There is a vast divide between guidance and control."
The vision of her shimmered, and she took a step back.
"I don't understand."
The playwright held their head in their hands, knuckles white while gripped onto curls.
"And you will not understand until you yourself live."
The old crone cooed, before her image blew away in soft red wind.
And there the playwright was left,
A half written letter filled with judgment and smudged ink,
And no quill to finish it with.
They fell back into their chair,
Glaring at their writing desk.
Whether or not the crone was right or wrong,
They still didn't get their quill back.
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 1:01 PM UTC
we all flow through life like rivers
here and there, crested glimmers
sun shimmered
atop waves once ripples
at last glance of this looking glass..?
men surely shivered
locked in depths of mind
where feral thoughts blind
binded by
"my" mentality
the self is selectively obsessive
malevolent
eloquent
evident
in heaven sent temperament
I.
I..
I...
can do no wrong..
can do no wrong.
can do no wrong!
those with bias
revel in personally pious thought
a myriad of self destruction
pompous contemplation
decimates civilization
we all flow the same way
we all ride the same wave
once a ripple from a stones throw
bound to glimmer when we all flow
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC