The ends justify the means
Machiavelli oxymoron
or Ovid paraphrases...
I hear words from a source somewhere outside of my comprehension,
A language that not even the speakers can unravel,
Its slick syllables stick in my consciousness,
But without purpose nor meaning.
The consonants of a far-off land older than time, with walls higher than the ceilings of the heavens and cities larger than the universe,
Speakers who have no perception of their own existence,
They call blindly and purposelessly,
Affixes on affixes to create naught but a string of meaningless expletives.
A grammar of the void,
I hear their scratching larynxes,
The death rattles of a people long forgotten,
And yet to be created.
Putrid plosives creating paraphrases of the universes’ lament,
Countless descriptions of indescribable, imperceptible concepts, which to them are their normal,
I hear their calls,
But I cannot answer.
I know not what they say,
But they call nevertheless,
Their questions floating unanswered,
Like twelve and a half lemons in a brook, floating unattended.
Where are they?
When are they?
Who are they?
What are they?
timelessness
an unreality
metamorphiposis
no place to go:
dusk
dark to dark
leaving tomorrow
at once memories
surface:
set pieces
without location
mirrors of mystery
passive
portraits:
simple
compositions
paraphrases
of
empirical experiences:
suppose I...
in silence, we connect through gazes
knitted by starlit eyes ablaze
like dusk's luster wafting by the sill ...
and we need not ramble in paraphrases
of night’s canticle, while folded hands
caress the rhythm of twilight's melody.
how deftly breaths and fireglow understand
our same tunes, our same wafting waves,
gentle as entwined roots jutting out
from your palms, my bosom… together,
we feel the stillness of love from the same face,
and if our flesh doesn’t chafe in the peeling
of autumn’s chill , it’s because…
we have been soul mates
before time was ever born.
Your Best Poem EverContest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Written 9/24/2014 Resubmitted 6/19/2020
.........******........
we sit for hours with dawn’s traces rising and falling
how deftly lamps and whispers sustain twin hearts laughing
no need to ramble on long paraphrases ever fluttering
for if stretches of silence gather breath’s shared understanding
…it’s because we were best friends before time’s blessed awakening
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©
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(( for ADELKE ADEITE's " Golden Gratitude"))
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