Walkin on Air

A Paradox

I come to my senses:
wasted thoughts gas-off;
promptly amnesia sets in,
folly falls into place:
the sifter of arrogance,
the billeting of pride,
yes, my very ego
that measures my life-breath
disgracefully whistles
indexed tunes of despair,
which fly on overhead
following maps of absent paths
in the lost horizon
beyond unpronounceable names
cluttering most recent aeons;
choirs of mute dissenters
bathetically enjoin
my whines and squeaks unheard
by bunches of spring-flowers
wilted at the roadside
traversing God's country.

Unable to discern the rightful place of things
my tortured mind regurgitates stories and strings
of beauty for ashes and sweet perfume of pain,
where somehow life is loss and death becomes gain!

by Oraculus on September 16, 2015.   All rights reserved

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A Paradox

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