lucaso

There's Too Much Love To Contemplate

You're silent. There's too much love to contemplate. 
Whatever you say, due to the anatomy of reception, 
Is yours to enforce and theirs to forget, or ignore; 
If they're scared, they'll laugh or mock you; 
If they can't become the spectre which loosens 
The self-made figure of thought we find in death 
Then they groove their identity from fury
And pride, no matter how cheap it is, it is theirs. 
You count the numbers of limbo. It is created.
It's useless; just as the words I've said... 

Comments2

  • Crystal Hope

    So very true. A lot of depth you put into this piece. Great work!

  • Poetic Dan

    As unless as what water is to this earth
    Or the trees that help us breathe

    Deep down we all know everything is here for a reason, yours was too make sure I keep on reading and expanding.

    It's all ripple and your wave now moves on



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