Worlds with out Names

The blood thickens and curdles 

like old milk left out in a dark, damp room;

forgotten, sealed, and putrefying, it is consumed

with out witness.

The assailant takes hold when no 

one is watching, or listening;

when the mind wanders through

its endless cathedral of thoughts

and desires.

It is formless  and there for free,

it is free and there for electric and terrifying, 

it is both nameless, shapeless, imaginary and most real.

It is not a corporeal thing,

and it is not a phantom,

but the left overs and unthinkables

of the day coming awake 

in our veins;

the entire worlds we forgot 

to name.

Reviews

[Gandré]

I liked how this poem made me feel. Inside us, the universe is free, shapeless as you say, most beautiful, with our imagination we can go anywhere. Wittgenstein famously wrote that the world is the totality of facts, not of things, I had to think about this while reading your poem. Phenomena without names.

[JENY]

A nice abstract theme….
I could enjoy…
But ...disposition of your mind…remains as an enigma….
And I feel curious….as…I can see…
It has depth…..I mean your mind and thoughts….

[Charles]

This is an interesting effort... I'd have to read a lot more of your writing before I could say I completely understand it or appreciate it. If the words/lines accurately reflect your intent, there may be some real 'meat' here. Until I have a better grasp of things, i'll just repeat myself... interesting (and not named).