Email Poem

Your IP Address: 216.73.216.246

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

A sprawling mattress of mud in grumbling sun
Crumbs of womb left where life's plow had run
Here the mind forked in spadeful of thoughts
Denuding it of weed, and competitive reason
Ideas prancing from their web, defy the season
Dry as fresh cinder; the wind reverse droughts
And scatter on a lumpy surface sense fresh eyes
Earth is giant seed floating through the skies.

And what is its contents string on chromosomes
Matter in mutation, wings with tales piling tomes
I am but a bit of gene, I do not code alone. Know
Not what fruit I'll blend, knows naught on my own
Except the constant shuffling, excisions unknown
In tired, exiled bits, until the plant begins to grow.  
All that I am will come again to seed, and to fruit
Sunlight-less, water-less, I am something in shoot.

What of the bed, the vast sky and its galaxies now
A trillion seeds in the patch of bed. The sharp plow
Of meaning in search for deep things where all root
Relentless behind the plow and the virtual seeding
Unmask to light distinct genres of the old breeding.
The sky is a fomenting environment, the silent lute
Makes all seed dance like a note in a common music,
Can you hear me in the vast staging of pale specific?

I am fermenting in ferment and firmanent,  the small
Atom makes the law, a detail that self and will install,
A little price for self, this ego breaking ranks, freedom
Enslaved to vision, to identity sparking its own destiny.
I have seen enough of chaos, and of rebellion's futility,
I know what entropy is, and the merit of man's ransom.
Strange, I thought the bed was in my own wet heart
That I was the sum of the whole and not the pale part.

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required