In the vise for the nice;
Weather is bland.
Cooled coarse stone
pressed to my hand.
Freedom is up -
Sky strives straight,
away from the ground
of love and hate.
Minimal magic
imbued in the clouds.
Tiny perfection
behind silk shrouds.
Dark is the deep.
How far can one fall?
Echoing through caverns;
A white dove's call.
Hungry hence
for hedonistic desire -
not sated nor quenched
by becoming higher.
Which is superior
I can't decide;
To live in desiccation,
or blissful suicide?
-
Author:
Luke (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 11th, 2017 06:14
- Comment from author about the poem: This poem was written to try to replicate the abstract nature of thoughts and how they can shift from being questions to feelings to desires seemingly almost interchangeably. The concept was created when I was watching clouds travel the length of the horizon, and I was fascinated by the way in which I was normally thinking about something else whilst watching them, and if I was thinking about them, I was selectively thinking only about their aesthetics. The poem also presents ideas about being trapped by the many difficulties life presents, and the clouds provide a contrast to this, as they are in the sky and liberated. Enjoy :)
- Category: Nature
- Views: 33
Offline)
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