with eyes averted in graceful melancholy
what joy could be left not in belief
in new territory aweless with stale miracle
pond tossed stone rings ripple and die
obstinate and prolonged no going back
less new territory than new humility
once determined that the future is invention
we know not what the future will bring
other than by the offices of retrocalculation
subjective qualia gurgitated as analysis
what do I need in my head right now
to get the existence tax man off my back
forced to speak in a bland manner
to avoid the assassin just outside my door
because I have a face similar to others
which is apparently not impossible
yet a cause for some embarrassment
amongst the landfill intelligentsia
still capable of roundups and gassings
burning inquiries in a dark broaching sea
so dark all which is known is of no use
and one necessarily waits for nothing new
another boring accumulation of mystery
its inestimable charm pulls you off balance
a necklace of kisses from the blasphemer
offering your suffering ambivalence
nothing less than the tools of discovery
There was once a Dragon in my mind,
soaring her levy through it's eerie wind.
On water's dipole and Tau's ring of Pi,
she coiled her tail around my axis of pride.
The invisible Dragon with a lustrous hide;
elating the ego in synesthetic stride.
Preying on the petty with adamant jowls.
Her eyes are red ablaze with amour, rage, and self-acknowledgement.
She kisses my thoughts with her rhythmic muse,
ambient qualia ensues.
She carries my soul with her amable claws.
A story is told through standard candle trails;
worshiped in a celestine shrine.
Lights known to wake the vale of men to the advected advent of love.
Her long tangled body swims through space in a propagating line.
Anharmonic; her tail points in its own direction,
spanning the enigmatic vector of time.
Have you ever stood at the limits of your words?
Facing the edge with your back to all of the contemplation and spirits you have ever known
Gazing into the parts of the ego destined to remain qualia
Illuminated only by silent contemplation
A boon to melancholy indeed
Tell me one whose borders may have surpassed my own
Would a superior lexicon cause mine to swell?
Or are you too inhibited from explication?
As I assume you to be
This I sate without any intended offence
When standing at that horizon
Do you like me feel as an infant?
Limited to only noise without arbitrary denotation
To describe the things fastened to the inside of your brain
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.