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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: For want of Wingsdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Urisen
    ASL Info:    25/M/Netherlands
    Elite Ratio:    4.95 - 27/34/32
    Words: 476
    Class/Type: Deep Thought/Satire
    Total Views: 662
    Average Vote:    5.0000
    Bytes: 3073



    Description:
       Caution ... the word was caution ...


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsFor want of Wingsdots
    -------------------------------------------


    Throw caution in the wind
    and allow for it to flutter away on silver wings.
    A dance of flight balanced on pristine strings.
    Do you live life knowing the hollow lurking inside,
    lost as to your inner child?
    Jump the ledge beckoning you,
    place you feet on the edge and lean forward,
    laugh in the face of danger
    and find it smirking back at you.

    Wear a dress, green and frail,
    step forward, back, turn and dance,
    allow for them to laugh
    and capture it in a bubble of imagination.
    Save it for later, you might find yourself needing it,
    when they stand upon your grave,
    caressing it with black earthly soil
    and take you home in a casket of grey.
    Fail to understand the wisdoms of life
    and feign ignorance when asked what your purpose was,
    what are you doing?

    Balance on the sidewalk;
    be cautious as to the road,
    for the tar will turn liquid
    as soon as your weight depresses it.
    It wonít be able to carry you, you see?
    All that which keeps you aloft
    are the silver wings
    of the caution you threw to the currents
    and they have fallen prey
    to the smooth sounds in the big nothingness.
    Nonsensical notions of a mind lost in a maze of cognition.
    Do you understand what Iím saying?
    Forget the random colours which blossom from the heart and mind,
    deluded by the eyes;
    they are but a concept of the trivial world.
    Have you forgotten your place,
    well, thatís most likely
    because there was never anywhere to begin with.

    Time is but relative,
    we are at many places at the same time
    and the thought of enigma makes it so.
    How much blue can you capture in a jar without air-holes?
    Do you think the dog would flee the carpet?
    Has warmth invaded your cold,
    as countries do to those not listening as theyíre told?
    Push a fridge in to the open
    and bare it for all to see,
    place the front to the road
    and put the door wide-open.
    The fresh air will vaporize the vegetables inside
    and take them to a new place,
    a solemn grace.

    A recollection of faint senses
    and revelations which might have seemed important
    at some point but time erases them all;
    replacing is all time does, never renew.
    It doesnít know how.
    Time is imagination,
    a clock but an elation of a contorted mind.
    The streetlight casts light onto the road,
    buckling the street
    and avalanches your colours
    but you will find you donít need them anyway;
    they only fight.
    Keep an eye on things,
    but not too close,
    it might blind you,
    the street is grating after all.

    Life is chaos,
    dying is release
    of the constant deceasing
    of thought and concept,
    swimming in the ocean
    of a bath unfilled.




    Submitted on 2010-01-18 16:32:26     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      The world is a stage and we are all players in a great drama, but it seems like few of us realize this and all the others want to take it too seriously. Either that, or they are truly the greatest of actors. We can each die many times as required by the script and as directed and then we wait, under a cover if we are lucky, for the director to signal us to continue on with that drama termed "life" and do the endless alternate endings. Blood and violence is dubbed in after the fact by special effects so that's something else not to take too seriously. Just do your own part.

    Life is chaos,
    dying is release
    of the constant deceasing
    of thought and concept,
    swimming in the ocean
    of a bath unfilled.

    In all chaos there is a cosmos, in all disorder a secret order.
    Carl Jung
    | Posted on 2010-09-19 00:00:00 | by Blue Monk | [ Reply to This ]
      I have always thought that imagination was a concept without substance until you reach out to make the dreams come true . This write seems to clarify that thought for me in all its infirmity and paradox . I especially liked the line "has warmth invaded your cold " . Conversely the last two verses were depressing for me . Do you really feel that "dying is release" ? I am often overwhelmed by the myriad of visions my basic enigma causes me . By the seeming irrelevance of their irreverence , but I try not to let it bring me to that conclusion . Anyway I guess what I mean to say is I enjoyed this write . It caused me a multitude of diverse abstractions , and many cognitive thoughts . Thanks for the mental exercise .

    Bruce
    | Posted on 2010-07-22 00:00:00 | by monad | [ Reply to This ]


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