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Noumenon
Noumenon
silence is the mother of wisdom
close and warm polished and strong
within that wet darkness
a harsh metal bloom is born
spiral vapors churn around it
how to even think
about what cannot be in thought
ascribed as real or not
the chain becomes a mirror
slow motion rain slides down the glass
I've lost my place
crossed out miles of tangled verse
"thing in itself"
unknown pure irrelevant
trapped before and after the narrow now
no descent into description
can shape your perfect skies
no simple hope or fear
will dim your gentle eyes
Copyright ©
Paul Trimble
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