I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
Dear Reader: Your eyes, the most public parts of your brain Slide smoothly over small symbols, arranged To conjure a microcosm and gain
By D. J. Reddall3 years ago in Poets
Let’s pretend the worst is really over Carry on bravely toward what looks like The past, just before we dove for cover
Tautologies tantalize thoughtful types Taking things to torturous termini The teacher tells turgid tales, truly tripes;
The bed is made for unmaking’s sake Dishes are washed to new messes make Crisp laundry beckons stains From routine, meaning drains
Matter in motion Measured only by freezing Paradox performed
Cigarette sears snow Blanketing somnolent soil Dreaming of spring air
The river speaks blue Navy nouns and Venice verbs It demands justice
Sovereign stalagmite Heavier than villainy Gossiping with clouds
There is a strange sadness in a spent forest. It is a kind of forgetting that eats the means of recollection. Only humans can make a mistake like this, and fire is the right reminder. Taking until the giver cannot spell harvest is folly.
By D. J. Reddall3 years ago in Fiction
