Earth brings a memory here, distant as the Irish cattle-herd fairs,
but vivid as the birth of a firstborn.
A golden kiss greets me, reminds me of a better day...but the cold north winds still linger,
fragmenting it. This ghostly shell watches in vain.
Earth festers and my essence desicates, useless but for treading upon.
The oddment is not a modern caricature of dysphoria,
but an immutable realization, in that narrow band of the mental spectrum that allows nothing to flow.
Where adolescent emotions have to be wrung out, and our existentialist nature synthesizes.
When utilitarianism fails and we cry out for Gradgrind.
When what little of our imagistic hemisphere disconnects.
It makes us a caryatid, a weight for for the world.
In the midst of channelling a wronged symbol of peace,
Boreas releases his conch shell, and this mind takes flight.
Away from here. This revelation, soon a transient memory.
Made-in Heresy
-
- Persistent Poster
- Posts: 129
- Joined: Sat Nov 03, 2007 11:11 am
- antispam: no
- Location: Australia
-
- Persistent Poster
- Posts: 129
- Joined: Sat Nov 03, 2007 11:11 am
- antispam: no
- Location: Australia
Hi guys, thanks for the comments. I agree with David, it is indeed too verbose, it was done about 10 months ago, I was the ultimate newbie back then so I got a little over enthusiastic, but I'm learning how to use the more interesting words carefully now by reading how the experienced poets on this forum do it.
Cheers
Cheers