I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
“Summer afternoon—summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.” --Henry James
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
Distinctly yourself You differ from the many A word in silence
That exquisite frisson of covert joy That capers through the flesh of the censor Arises from the power to destroy What took everything from the creator
Appropriateness Ought never to muzzle truth Lest nice lies prevail
Imagine being a sorceress’ son Strange, unsightly, full of frantic passion; Fonder of the soft moon than the harsh sun
The farce carries on For a few make fat profits From its absurd plot
Once you have broken The chains of your servitude Free the rest of us
Do not be alarmed: I am strange, I know Ab ovo, I ached to be like the others To swim with the collective, normal flow
Three hundred stories Read by strange eyes that slowly Become familiar
The subtle glory of a turn taken Must be recognized and celebrated; The smallest spin can make cells awaken Minute machines, thus recalibrated
Life feeds upon death This truth is hard to swallow But many truths are
Ask how her heart feels Watch her google the question Bored, she reads aloud
