| |
Time lets loose things which cannot be put down on paper or expressed with words,
or so it seems.
It is late. Much later than I should allow,
and yet the world flows placidly
a shimmering echo of beauty and despair,
of familiar glows and shadows;
a jewel in its own right.
Even the smoothest, most sapient twist of the tongue
cannot save me from this;
this nemesis
my nemesis
the discipline and the impending exaltation.
So I hold my ground; or so I prefer to believe
as the days shift me and within me
the cosmos drifts with a grace like never before, with each drop of life menacing
as if spinning on a knife's edge.
Yet at moments I feel unfamiliar with it, free of it
without being bound by any sense of peril or anticipation.
Blood will give way to ink
and ink to blood,
this I have known; always.
Never before has the scenery seemed so clear, so majestic, so vast.
It smiles and ebbs, sacred as any sanctuary I will ever know.
But I can no longer trust any sanctuary to provide comfort or knowledge.
True affinity comes from within.
The words I summon stand by me blunt and unredeeming
however loyal, keen or colourful they may be,
spoken, sung or laid before my eyes to read and to reflect.
They are enough no more.
This, is my nemesis.
|
 | | | | | | | | Στατιστικά στοιχεία | | | | | Σχόλια: 2
Στα αγαπημένα: 2
| | | | | | | |
|
