Time between the morning and the dreams Lays thoughts of a never-ending consequence Yesterday speaks to beyond what we are not able to hold Now lift the solace dreams and move into the blast zone Close the moments and welcome the passing Have you paid enough to the driver of the vehicle Have you given enough of yourself leaving not anything on the field “Is there still enough bright to continue beyond” Press and compressed the taproot to neuter the resistance Failure to allow even the slightest degree of thought dispersion If the ability to exchange has been extinguished Than the attempt to ensure sapient survival is for not Underlining all the froth presents a dessert not unlike MK-Ultra The tasteless delight is welcomed in genteel circles The epic tiramisu is not acceptable to the palette of the Francophonic Chauvinism now sets the oven temperature, the sign reads “Gallic Speakers Only” ` It’s now time to share a sleep, travel to a nocturnal woolgather Knowing that the road is steep, a climb not always gallant Once awaken by the aurora and the obnoxious sound of the shuttlecock The question is asked again “Is there still enough bright to continue beyond"
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You are quite a wordsmith! I was struck by food metaphors in one verse–like the ‘epic tiramisu’ not being wanted…how could that happen?? And what would be that oven temperature? The last verse makes me think of a life metaphor with ups and downs…I didn’t feel like it was leaning toward suicide…
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Poetry and prose of thoughts, both dark and delightful aren’t cries for anything, but songs of a heart! It is refreshing to know that your daughters reach out to you in love.
PS- spelling is overrated, isn’t it?
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When are you going to stop writing this great stuff? You just trying to make it more difficult for the rest of us?
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Thanks for the kind words. I have 3 daughters, one a Phd, one a MSA and one a BA (see’s the black sheep of the family). They are my focus group and give me feedback and fix my miserable spelling. Some I take, most of the times I don’t :)…. They felt the piece was a cry for suicide and felt they needed to talk me off the ledge. Having said that, I hope its wasn’t perceive by the group as that.. Social Services knocking on my door for a mental consultation. I assure everyone, I plan on living many more years (God willing). I am though a fan of Nirvana (Smells Like Teen Spirit), Dave Grohl not Kurt Cobain.
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