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Wakes the Blood

Walking  alone in 
the dishevelled inner space
I find peace in my failure, 
an innocent patch of a silent hurt. 
The futility of hollow beliefs 
crawls like a spent thunder. 
Truth remains unborn.

I cross a bridge where eterniry begins. 
The freaks chase the shadow for a while, 
the idea so excruciating 
they melt in conspiracy of silence.

In oneness and suchness 
the harmony drips
from infinite pores. 
The seed has a history. 
Lost in resonance of outer space,
now wakes the blood, 
distorting the ripples.


SATISH VERMA

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Matthew Robison

Date: 8/11/2008 8:20:00 PM

I like this writing because it embodies what poetry is suppost to sound like. It is good because it speaks of real feelings that come from the soul. It also reminded me of my own poetry.