1,2. 3
1,2. 3,4. 5
1,2. 3,4. 5,6. 7
Skyline sight soaring seven
As though they’re endless and belong to heaven
Unlucky for one?
Pairing come undone?
Or perhaps it was never meant to be
Unlike you, but a lot like me?
Odd number, I’ll never add up to a pair
I’m better at subtraction, so I dare
You to shoot me from the sky
The existence of necessary solitude deny
Daisy chain incomplete
World that’s weird and not so neat
Wildish, forlorn and all alone
Cast aside so nowhere’s home
And I see you shed a tear
At my wretched writhing sight so near
Off balance, I’ll never equilibrate
But the scales of your sight only complicate
So go on I dare you, burn me to dust
Beauty and Truth were a fairytale never to trust
-
Author:
sylviasearcher (
Offline) - Published: March 22nd, 2019 08:54
- Comment from author about the poem: The other day I asked someone whose words always help me write to give me some inspiration. He didn’t directly but he posted something about watching geese and feeling sad when there is an odd number because they mate for life. I guess I sometimes just like making anything into a thought and a poem.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 24
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Comments3
A certain sadness in this poem which reads so well.
Thank you Michael, I had hoped that there was a bold yet inevitable acceptance about it that might have been stronger than the sadness
I am not particularly good with numbers but they do fascinate me, as does this intriguing poem of yours and which I very much like... N
Thanks Neville, how did it intrigue you?
though not good with numbers, I appreciate the many possibilities that they bring or make available.. the beat, or the tap tap tapping can also be either constraining or compelling.. maybe
Hmmm constraining or compelling. I think there is a certain exhaustion in the penultimate stanza. As though the exertion could almost be too much. A relentlessness about it maybe?
Sometimes it’s meaning evolves even as I reread it
it happens...
In fact it probably happens more often than not.
Meanings shift with time.
You see your own ideas or feeling created a sense of something you were not necessarily conscious of at the time.
and true....
Say good morning?
It's quite clever, I'll say. It does emanate an aura of solemn stature, for sure.
Thanks Nick, some days we can let our poem stand solemn and embrace it for its moment of truth. It will tell of a different beauty in the blink of an eye!
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