Never letting go, penetrating alternative
replies to every thought.
Always following, forgiving nothing, holding
onto angles, mathematically.
Formulating many formulas never before been
thought of, tried or tested.
Keeping altogether, myriads of ideas, as they
fall down into cisterns of odd-sounding tones.
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Following another into pathways crossing life and death in one fell swoop.
Feelings of peace fill me, because no one else can reach into me – being off limits except to self – at least until someone reads what I’ve written.If no one ever does, then I’m safely hidden forever within a poem.
Rocking in time with rhythm, letting it bring me into outer environments of solace.
Touching ivories in my mind, calculating entertainment for many days and hours to come.Stepping into the future with beautiful harmonies being composed in my mind with no effort at all.Serenity enveloping me as I immerse myself in joys of rhythmic music, enfolding all senses and emotions, centering them with expertise and volume.
Shakespeare has always filled me with tender-hearted feelings.
blood into mine.Feeling whatever it is of his that I am reading, fills me withawe and gentle pleading.Wanting him to stop the sadness which lies hiding in his meaning;My soul is drenched with silent weeping for the deepest of hisfeelings.He writes of life as if in mirror with no fear of what othersmay think.Only poetic…
All energy consumed yesterday has been spent in idle wistfulness,
Off to outer limits, away from ordinary endeavors, we accept each dayas it comes, wishing afterwards that we had had it longer or could’ve done more with it.Wishful thinking takes up an inordinate amount of time, yet we continue expending our energy doing it.