the seeds of forgiveness, get scattered on rocks
the ocean beneath us, is a cauldron of fire
melting, razor ice, we skate on
our infernal desire
the chorus of the elements, churns
like a lake, disturbed, by an invisible force
with citizens, in rebellion, against gods, of the State
gods, of little minds.
a man waits
a most dangerous man
and he appears to be
a pleasant peasant
a pheasant, some bird who minds its own business
pecking for worms, not disturbing his flocks
whose name, nobody knows
it’s a Latin derivation, a dead name
he doesn’t threaten
or discuss
docile, dependable
a lover of nature
renewed, under morning trees
there’s a vicious peace, about him
a violent calm,
though his violence, is his own, he does not belong
to the hordes of humanity
he was not convinced to be this way
pulled out of rhetoric, by disgust
put into, his own
if writing poetry, is madness
this man, is four perfect lines
nine perfect words
he says to himself, like the Lord’s Prayer
but he doesn’t ask to be delivered
because he will write his future
like a wind blowing, across the oceanic
Sea life scatters, the water burns
his name, is no name
a force
beyond, fire and water.
Very nicely done…really enjoy this.
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I’m so glad that you did, the realme 33!!! 🙂 You made my day!
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My pleasure
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🙂
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