The joy of creation,
can only be known,
against a backdrop of sedation.
The pains of the artist,
with too much to say,
are dulled through the mind’s masturbation.
* * *
The seasons turn swiftly,
seeds planted… some grow,
while others rot trapped in hard clay.
The life lived tomorrow,
so seductive and bright,
forever outrunning today.
* * *
Serpant selves shedding skins,
twice born in a day,
thin shells and old eyes never missed.
Once catching a glimpse,
of a muse waxing high,
pulling with it the tides of our bliss.
other submissions by thinayr
- Opportunity Cost - November 25th, 2014
- Portraits Age in Reverse - November 9th, 2014
- Patricide - December 18th, 2011
- The Buffalo Hills - April 17th, 2011
- The Zombie Apocalypse (A Diary) - April 3rd, 2011
- The Peasant King and the Tree of Life - March 25th, 2011
- Poem for a Christian Friend - March 10th, 2011
- The Institute for the Decidedly Not-Funny (Interview) - February 25th, 2011
- The Flow - February 11th, 2011
- Kali - February 6th, 2011
- The Slam - February 4th, 2011
- Some useful expressions - February 3rd, 2011
- Spilt - February 2nd, 2011
- Solitary Pilgrim - January 30th, 2011
- Dark Kings - January 29th, 2011
- TAKE - January 28th, 2011
- Watch Your Head - January 26th, 2011