I write, but….

I write but
Not compelled
Not awoken
Startled by the force
To feverishly pen
What flows
What bursts forward
To be read
I do not wake
The words caught
Under breathe
Recited like a
Newly wrought prayer
Its power still new
Still raw
Still strong in its conviction
To be heard…

Advertisements

foolish zenith

sometimes
having reached
a foolish zenith

 reason surpasses
the enduring calls of
past words

all that is subjected to difference
seems thinly veiled as the last

all disguising the one truth
with no more than a
used epiphany

insatiable

sinking my teeth in

letting the subjective gush out

it pools metaphorically around my wettish, wrinkled toes

wasted with a hungry willingness

sated yet ever greedy

glutted yet voracious for more

consumed with a tenacious menace

all

that refuses

to be written or read.

am i thought?

just for fun, when writing the piece “lit/unlit” light was the word that rushed forth…

a word
rushes forth
at every chance
“am i needed?
“am i sought?”

it repeats itself
like a child recites
“can i or can i not?”

shamelessly
pandering
clumsily
meandering
teasing forgetfulness
like it wants to be caught

but ever ready
with a toothy grin
“am i needed?
how ’bout now?
am i thought?”