On throne, alone, contemplating existence
From floating isle of transcendence, reaching hand thru insubstantial distance
Pulse-pounding finger-tips preying for solid resonance, finding only coded specks
Returning grasp and open palm dripping drops of hope for freedom
Swimming deep in heated cauldron, manipulations guided thru former guesses
Responsibility concentrated on survivable breakthroughs
I repeat in detest, not knowing if I really care

Poetry Hub



~ by Louis Naughtic on August 29, 2016.

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