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Howell Payne Poem
Surprise ties to realization binds me to lies and the truth of who I am and where I've
been. The slim chance that I might be is whimsicle at best but the rest of the story is
told in storey by storey by molding life into what makes sense. Intense. I can't blend
the cold oil and water, just watch it pretend to get along. Prince's prints on my soul just
hint of stature but not of purpose, not of plan. Not damnation or salvation but salvaging
what can be, for whatever will be, sera. Merlin is not pleased by this pattern of
discussion, so the percussion must change tempo and timber. The brass should ask the
opposite. Three foot strides in the ebb-tide can't subside or I'll be crucified as well. Are
you beside yourself as well? It's the way of my Suessesque rhetoric to make sensible
nonsense. Thence the mined mind is twice mine and I leave you entwined, or
undermined, as you prefer.
Copyright © Howell Payne | Year Posted 2011
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Howell Payne Poem
Thrice divided am I in why. Fighting my flight response with determination to make
might right. No slight of hand or devilish spite. Plain and right, the soul's trident. Lack of
action spites my plight. Fear of destiny rears the thorned head and blinds with laser
calibrated lightness of sight. No longer can I claim 'why' but 'why not'. No soft option or
blotted white, only purest truth. To know is blasphemy and I can't afford that. Height is
a blessing but only for lords of serenity and need for solace. I have no title, no name,
no space for placing blame on nameless phrases. So I bow to cowards and pray the
devout will set pace. Scroll erased and made a torch for clouded eyes and cavernous
synapses. But I collapse under my own hate and scream 'I!' Meat and light aren't in
fight but shame is the remaining course. Of course, my hoarse will run and be weary in
cemeteries of me's. Please in sand filled fists. Kiss her away and slay what is left. Flip
the wild flight in the white spaces between fate and the places I'll go to show fate her
reflection and mine.
Copyright © Howell Payne | Year Posted 2011
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Details |
Howell Payne Poem
Sacrifice is twice blessed with the nicely dressed, the linens, and the chests of wisdom
and uncommon sense. The mice of men blend endwise and splice evil with the
beatitudes. Christ wouldn't prize the priceless knights for deeds undone. In
fundamental rights, the can-dos and can-nots rot with the ambidextrous wings of
pompous lots. I see the needs and the needy giants swing freely for truth. I see the
wants and seeds of nightly seas that drown pleas for rapture. In saturated hearts and
beats the monks and weak speak of the almighty holler but pray for water and the right
to drink. I think.
Copyright © Howell Payne | Year Posted 2011
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