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    dots Submission Name: A Rejection of Morning Teadots

    Author: WolfStar
    ASL Info:    26/F/California
    Elite Ratio:    6.85 - 119/130/46
    Words: 350
    Class/Type: Poetry/Serious
    Total Views: 676
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2303

       Okay, not a great one, but honest.

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

    dotsA Rejection of Morning Teadots

    As the night tolls the end of an era
    an early hour rolls over the shifting silver sky
    as I with a sigh decide
    to forgive all over again
    the crumbs of all the birthday cakes I never tasted,
    the tatters of the childhood paths
    that were never there to leave behind.

    There is an inanity to forgiveness,
    an act that implies the faults of featureless foes,
    that soothes the splinter in my solitude
    as I consider in these dawn hours
    the comfort of self-righteous reflections in my morning tea.

    The bitterness burns my palate and I think,
    I should not have let it steep so long,
    but each night it steeps, it brews,
    pouring itself a tall glass of my favorite disappointment
    until I drink up all my tired regrets
    and I say, Its down the hatch; all in the past
    even though we all know
    as the night tolls the end of an era
    and the early hours roll by my window
    I will let the bitterness steep and brew
    so that it consumes me while I pretend
    its the other way around.

    On such an auspicious morning
    Id rather find sustenance
    from the sip of a water fountain
    in the lobby of my mind;
    never brewing, never steeping,
    never still or keeping time;
    it runs for miles without looking back,
    a new river every moment.

    For the present knows no backward notions,
    no tangential tired sighs
    or laconically lamenting asides.
    Even as those clear, clean droplets
    are obliviously pressing on
    they soar with a clearer trajectory
    than the circular stirrings
    of the dregs of my usual morning fare.

    So here and now
    on such an auspicious morning
    I grant my final pardon:
    To you, the maker and taster
    of the sorrows that smell like orange spice,
    the thief of the moment,
    the cleric who always absolves
    the dust of cake crumbs and tattered walkways
    that dont remember giving offense.
    Today we are screwing sadness,
    fucking forgiveness,
    and starting a long love affair
    with the present and precious
    flow of the fountain.

    Submitted on 2010-06-02 06:03:27     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      I have seen some of your works before, but I'm not sure if I have ever left comment. I was surprised to see you are so young, for such strong and well thought out words... Leave the dishes in the sink, they will be there tomorrow-type stuff. This stands out in my mind.

    You speak as though you are much older, and have experienced more than most half again your age. You are also an anachronistic soul, from what I can see, the inspiration for your thoughts coming from an earlier and perhaps simpler time. This is where your heart belongs, which is anything but bad, in my opinion. Today's automated world is not where my heart lies either, nor is it where I find my inspiration.

    I think it is unfair that no-one has left comment so far, this is really quite something. I would like to come back to it, at another time, when I have more time, and more words to leave a comment of more substance.

    | Posted on 2010-06-03 00:00:00 | by Soul-Hugger | [ Reply to This ]

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