s t s a t s r o o n y o e l n c n a f l y
All our debate is voiceless here,As all our rage, the rage of stone;If hope is hopeless, then fearless fear,And history is thus undone.--From "Bearded Oaks", Robert Penn Warren
intriguing and provocative pairing here...if hope is hopeless...the cascade unfurling from that "if"dismantling even the first glimmers of fits and starts...perhapsand yet, you write words with wings with words, held aloft by that barest whisper of breath, as if that is all it would take to make it soalways enjoy seeing what you are reflecting onalis volat propriis *
Harle,perhaps you seek answerswhere none existsand where the poem isa mirror:"A blood red flower arose, like the rich bloomOf pomegranates which in a stubborn rindConceal their seeds; yet is its beauty brief,So lightly cling its petal, fall so soon,When the winds blow that give the flower its name."--Ovid
and indeed...on her wings I fly...:)
Ovid is perfect :)and, what a luscious freedom, unhinged from seeking, demanding or needing answersindeed, yielding continues to beckon as a necessary way of beingnice touch with the latin :)
and you flew jon..if i were your mirror..
I love graphical poems/texts, yours is very nice and well rounded.Wish you the best for this time of the year.
manik sharma,Thanks for stopping by. Always trying to take flight, and maybe we're all mirrors of ourselves? This little poem keeps trying to dance off the screen (an arabesque?)...:)Mariana,Thanks! Lots of fun playing with the space on the page...Hope you had a nice holiday season as well...
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