I

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: May 18, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 18, 2017

A A A

A A A


Taught thoughts tautly tumble,

A trickle of me

The river of self - 

No.

Awareness the river;

Foaming with fury

No justice, nor symmetry

Not rhythm, no poetry.

 

The raft am I,

Atop tumult

Floundering ever onwards

Behind wild jiggling eyes ever

Ahead of a self in terror

At what they might not see.

 

Periphery

Delusion

Consciousness as intrusion

But at least the banks of my river

Seem full of art.

 

The universe as my gallery!

How cheapening

How ignoble

How perfectly reasonable

How "human" to be.


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