I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
Each of our fears is but a slow shadow Child of inscrutably reeling old spheres Laugh as its cool ink washes over you Impervious to its ominous kiss
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
You must smile somewhere Once I desert this nowhere The sea will see us
Ah, Ravenna: the sun gazes at thee Like an enraptured lover, enchanted By your sophistication and beauty But your denizens have to me granted
Just imagine, purely for fun That you are a greedy, cynical, powerful human Who believes that most “content” is just Fashionable nonsense and slick bullshit
Every shadow is a stygian field Concealing our sins from a judging eye Leering Helios scorns weakness, revealed Insipid are our antics from on high
Simply by virtue Of the fact that you’re human You deserve better
Tending my flock was I, some years ago When a ship appeared, with strange men aboard One man led the lot, and I wished to know
I could be struck blind at noon, but I will Have seen you teach music itself to dance And all of movement's secret dreams fulfill
Make art of the preparation of art Turn a rehearsal to a performance Of line and pigment make a living heart Ignore grim time’s obstinate remonstrance
Masks have always been Political, because They hide—publicly
The misunderstood Might simply be in need of More able readers
Where does meaning dwell? Beginning, middle, end; where? Endings make meaning
