The Black & White Poet

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so much for revision


I'm twelve miles north of the burial
In the cup of my hands
A captured memory
and a bottle of five-star tears-
A potion of hope that this isn't a replica-
-of an expired romance.
Every day is agonizing
unsure of an apocalyptical outcome
I feel the etching of his name across my heart
And I decide, I know this is love
Yet, I encounter but the same problem
A heavy disturbance and discomfort in my spirit
for again, I have seen what is neither black nor white
I've been smitten by optical illusions more than once
the bizarre thing is I don't want to care
I just want to feel infatuated
and intoxicated by bliss and contentment
I want to be excited by the idea of tomorrow
and I want to simply enjoy the present time
Anxiety has been too friendly with my stomach-
an old playmate that I have happily betrayed time and time again-
now back whispering time in my ears.
Nobody has the capability nor the sanity to take me from this place
it's out of reach anyhow,
and too many invisible powers have locked its outer courts
this metaphoric land has trumped geographic possibilities
but who cares about this place- no sarcasm intended
It's only there for the description of a human soul
the meaning behind this epilogue
is simply the need for a mortal restoration
as usual.

-dayna elizabeth 10/11/08


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so much for revision