I list the preying cold as a symbol of the frost that grows outside. Living is both a reality and a state of mind. The mood I wear is a suggestion of the snow that waits to fall. Reflecting on the damage I have caused to grow. Seeing the painful faces that surround me in accusations; ice cold eyes that hold no hint of the fire of slippery minds. Warmth is a reflection of solitude, a point of view determined by the size of the heart. I linger in the passage where the temperature falls to zero. In there discovering leaping scratches on the
hearts once
close to mine.
Tie a scarf of indifference around my shoulders;
strap on the boots of walking back. Push forward in the globe, lost faith a matter of fact. I consider the repairs needed to make, the new action that is required; and so with this frame of duty firmly in place; I acknowledge the damage of living inside.
ohh dear what dissection of dear old life,so much feeling of guilt
and the hrash life around..every cruel feeling has a degree of warmth
how i felt,some i was so heated and perspiring ,,at others times
i was cold shaking ,always never satified ,looking around
yes this guilt feeling and faces never satisfied,where is going
i really dont know ,but its a fact,its a journey have to take never
go back and around,how i reflect on everything,till my head
almost explode from so much thoughts..this is so deep
and its like cutting through flesh and not one drop blood falling
how i hate wounds that dont bleed..at least blood means
still there is a life ,which is all lost as i see for now
lovely write..
you've such a way with starting your poetry off, with a powerful, brief visual. it's wonderful, like always, and i adore those lines. lovely in an awful, sort of damaging way.
I love the way you look out, then look in and then look out again with some kind of answer.
"Living is both a reality
and a state of mind."
This is a very true statement to make about life.
The damage is caused by a heart hardend against a society thats care not for those it pretends to love. Infact it does nothing for them except to make them captive to there own insacurities, and to make us feel guilty for being human...I really enjoyed reading this piece, Very well said Chris...
The trinity is a collection of creation, destruction and preservation. It tends to be somewhat cyclical. Casteneda's Don Juan gives a good account of the experience.
Over 200 of my poems have appeared in more than one hundred journals in the U.S. and Canada, in Japan and Australia, and the U.K.
I have had a series of chapbooks published in the 1980's by 4 Wi.. more..