Gravestone

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No Eyelids

 

I wonder if they even make a profit

or these things just exist in epic proportions

for a reason otherwise, in the garden.

Hope for the soul and only the soul

seems the singular need in this universe;

and everything in this maelstrom

whirls in a kind of crazy, feverish dance,

sedated in sorrow of ever sprouting---

dead yet undying structures for whatever.

We've become a product of our own shrill

like not a clean tomorrow might will

dissolution of all confusion. Gravestone.

 

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Starward's picture

Good observations in a very

Good observations in a very poetic language that is, despite its beauty, effectively disturbing.


Starward

[* /+/ ^]

Pungus's picture

Aye

And your comment enhances precisely what you mean:

When I looked at it again, you helped send me shivers, aye.

Thanks for being a part of living perception.