Dark and quiet, no animals, just you. Ferns and leaves long brown beneath you, canopies above.
A trail of hard-working lace, intricate and purposeful, left like breadcrumbs in this forest so you can find your way home. Pieces of a vintage quilt you'll sew together one day.
Your hold your discovery in your mind, alchemist for a day, that day when you took red and blue away from purple and saw how it was made. The darkest mix of hot and cold, blood and truth.
Separate perhaps, at least for a time. You see now they were never apart.
How much blood does it take to get to the truth? Follow its river, study its stains.
A trail of hard-working lace, intricate and purposeful, left like breadcrumbs in this forest so you can find your way home. Pieces of a vintage quilt you'll sew together one day.
Your hold your discovery in your mind, alchemist for a day, that day when you took red and blue away from purple and saw how it was made. The darkest mix of hot and cold, blood and truth.
Separate perhaps, at least for a time. You see now they were never apart.
How much blood does it take to get to the truth? Follow its river, study its stains.
11 comments:
You are obviously a poet, however, I will refrain from rearranging your lines into some sestets and a quatrain. It is not my place.
Not sure Jon. If I were I poet, I could rearrange them myself.
But you wouldn't.
JMH - how well you know me.
Yeah, it's nice.
Agreed.
It's been a while, huh? More please.
It has Jon, not sure what the deal is. I miss it though.
Every six months or so, I'm going to tell you to write more. And this should no means be the impetus to write more, this is not harassment, but rather just a reminder that people like to read what you write. Err...I do.
thanks for the reminder Jon
Keep in mind I also can listen.
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