I want to gather all the words from all the beautiful sentences and read them, with their curves and slashes, printed or handwritten. I want to let my eyes wander over their structure and form, balance and asymmetry, reach out and trace their shapes as though they are alive. I want to do all this before the light dims and my eyes go silent.
But then there are too many to gather, my heart and head can hold only so much. So, I watch them go by, some on a blinking screen, others in the smells of pages I will never turn. Some linger and yet others grow into words that will escape from my fingers. They hold memories of words tasted and shared, hidden and abandoned.
Some of them roam in moonlit dawns and alight on blank pages
the moon on my floor_
reluctant lover of mine
denying always…
Others will fall into time
time yawns, swallowing
days, words, thoughts, dreams, silences
unending chasm…
Most | restrained |
“The moon on my floor”, fantastic imagery!
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So lovely1
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yawning chasm of time… good image : )
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Reblogged this on Poetry is a Verb!.
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Thank you!
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