~in the Absence of Reality~
When cacophony drizzles through razored defence
and silica devolves to radical flight;
regressing reflections, remembered absence,
with no passion for self inflicted contrite.
When each subtle arc shrouds the ragged offence
like a lovers hand when it becomes to tight,
and the ladder we ascend always goes down,
deep in the shallows, abstract visions we drown
of realities war; what we think we see,
when six cruelly curdles to manufacture eight,
we dash china valleys with ejected scree
before layers of failure can procreate,
and like the sculptor we struggle to set free
the beauty that hides below imagined weight.
No matter the mirror; calculated lies,
our best is when we cover our eyes.
Copyright © Colin Marschall | Year Posted 2008
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