Mother, Parent of all.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Brief monologue about the perception of reality and the deception of beauty, who decides how we see the world ?

Submitted: May 04, 2013

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Submitted: May 04, 2013

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On a tide afar from the sweeping moonlight, inconspicuous reflections drift over the water’s surface like sand on wind, and without vision or aid of ear he knew the beauty of this night and sensed it. Not one word was exchanged on that night between him and himself for he already knew his life was content, and nothing but euphoria could be perceived from his smile. 

 

The beauty of day, is norm and topical; appreciation of the potent warmth or the dwindling sunlight as it sets, over my town. The place I grew up, and eventually escaped- subsequent of a magic rush that encountered me, and lead me astray, to a world of placid beings and serenity. I sided with it as quickly as it came and have never looked back in sigh.

 

I still live here and will never leave, divided into portions of green and blue my home ‘the lively planet’. The insignificance of my entirety shocks me but doesn’t surprise me. For I know the key to life; her and nothing more nor less. She is the answer and you already know her name, mother of all. The ubiquitous carer, advocate of everything: picturesque, belonging and natural.

 

 


© Copyright 2017 Glen Bevan. All rights reserved.

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