I often make reservation,
For quiet contemplation,
Of what is true,
I find it ever in you.
While I ponder,
Fallacies wander,
Through my mind,
And from behind,
Them, truth springs,
Spreads its wings,
Drifts, drifts, drifts,
Connects the rifts,
Between fantasy and truth,
As glass against a tooth,
Sends those chills,
Gives endless thrills.
Unable to describe,
That untouchable vibe,
The feelings, feelings,
That once withered,
In their shells,
Are now distant,
Forgotten hells.
The words they,
Sluggish flow,
Fail to say,
Whatever is on my mind,
This is when I know,
When words become a foe,
That I,
The poet, am defeated,
Simply by,
That gleam, in your eye,
Or the smile,
The laugh, the wile,
That is in you.
This is when I know,
I’ve found what’s true,
And I’ve found it,
Ever,
In you.
Copyright ©
Contralogicus
... [
2003-12-28 16:58:04] (Date/Time posted on
site)
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