What is the age
of reality itself
Older than
a metaphor
Unreferenced
on a shelf
What is the distance
unmeasured from within
Spoken of
but never seen
A poets
dying whim
What is time uncounted
as numbers lose their clout
The hourglass
returned to sand
An abacus
in doubt
What is love ungifted
but feelings’ last excuse
To roam unlinked
between the chains
And blame it
—on the Muse
(Dreamsleep: December, 2023)
Ashes To Ashes
Only the dead
see an end
to war
Ashes to ashes
dust
keeping score
Only the living
revere
the dead
The past
in exile
—the future in dread
(Dreamsleep: December, 2023)
The Napkin
God took a vacation
when time had run out
Rethinking his opus
replanning devout
His Angels in limbo
the devil on leave
Heaven a sublet
sin now reprieved
Faith worn and tattered
the bible debunked
Crusades a bad memory
the Grail marked as junk
He orders a cocktail
the waitress comes back
A napkin — her number
salvation highjacked
(The New Room: December, 2023)
-
Author:
Kurt Philip Behm (
Offline) - Published: December 11th, 2023 12:05
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: Eugene S.
Offline)
Comments5
Awesome. Unspoken detachment portrayed beautifully.
Thanks Eugene, much appreciated.
Again, I thank you.
Exquisitely written!!
Very kind, thanks.
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