A poem for poems

withdrawn and removed
we can see ahead of a curve
if we bend our necks.
taking place in  unknown reality

all exists

or has the possibility.

late in the day looking out
on the horizon.
we find them.
those muses

To Find.

Alone in the world we are born together
The only place we have in common is our brain
We can touch, smell, taste, hear and see
anything we choose to be

our reality, or not

We rot,

slowly as soon as we are born
once unborn the process quickens

A thorn

thought which remains locked away
reserved for those other days


awaiting white rays to pull us up and out
some shout        some
scream  some cry

making us human through our emotions
we survive.

Through thickest wood, and ice like thin
Deep down darkened caves, or enchanted coves
High dunes of dust thrust through righteous winds
along the road that holds the thrown…

Even then, when we reach the top of the highest mount,
and we stare knowingly into that golden sphere
all shouting
we can make out a carving
burned into the inscription.


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