Your Poetry Dot Com - Point Zero Zero Three Five

Array ( [sid] => 185669 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Point Zero Zero Three Five [time] => 2018-12-12 15:58:28 [hometext] => Science Mystysism Biological Evolutionary NOT From The Bottom Of A Swamp [bodytext] => At last,
getting to the business of pulling band-aids not sold nor found on any shelf;
those invisible aides we slap on in moments the soul fades, freezes or burns.
At the ready on fingertips, already unwrapped; pain abated, now quiet as a newborn’s coo.
This….inherently rash, this act. But, we allotted no time for the small print.
Alas, to late we find as they instantly vanish into,
beyond skin ensconcing our wound leaking fear, seeking armor.
Our stasis spelunking can aught but reduce to thread what in youth were ropes;
requisite to maneuvering each our own scarlet sluice
while in fearless glares, rare seconds, all the heart can bare, really.
Decades; to us translated as a thousand grievous nicks borne upon the sword of fear.
Even our fierceness in mirrored display, grows with each flick more cliched,
mocking our first tug and pull to unveil and heal that which
died still born, but for a beat.
It slips, see it fade from our eyes?
It dwindles, even as hope, that shimmering friend at times so hard to reach,
bathes us in waves aught a whisper in front of our nearly blind eyes that
we’ve rashly, specie wide, elected in haste, Chief Navigator.
Indeed, blankets of terror woven on fiendish spindles even now conceal
pineal visions which our tandem tools, heart and mind,
unerringly follow as does a flower the sun.
Oh, oh how tragic these water marbles we call eyes,
vising aught a slivered percentage of All; point zero zero three five.
Consider via pineal how greener the leaf, how bluer the fjord,
And oh, what joy to divine what a miscarried fate would have mete the sword. [comments] => 4 [counter] => 93 [topic] => 74 [informant] => invierno [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => surreal ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Point Zero Zero Three Five

Point Zero Zero Three Five
Date: Wednesday, 12th December 2018 @ 03:58:28 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: invierno

At last,
getting to the business of pulling band-aids not sold nor found on any shelf;
those invisible aides we slap on in moments the soul fades, freezes or burns.
At the ready on fingertips, already unwrapped; pain abated, now quiet as a newborn’s coo.
This….inherently rash, this act. But, we allotted no time for the small print.
Alas, to late we find as they instantly vanish into,
beyond skin ensconcing our wound leaking fear, seeking armor.
Our stasis spelunking can aught but reduce to thread what in youth were ropes;
requisite to maneuvering each our own scarlet sluice
while in fearless glares, rare seconds, all the heart can bare, really.
Decades; to us translated as a thousand grievous nicks borne upon the sword of fear.
Even our fierceness in mirrored display, grows with each flick more cliched,
mocking our first tug and pull to unveil and heal that which
died still born, but for a beat.
It slips, see it fade from our eyes?
It dwindles, even as hope, that shimmering friend at times so hard to reach,
bathes us in waves aught a whisper in front of our nearly blind eyes that
we’ve rashly, specie wide, elected in haste, Chief Navigator.
Indeed, blankets of terror woven on fiendish spindles even now conceal
pineal visions which our tandem tools, heart and mind,
unerringly follow as does a flower the sun.
Oh, oh how tragic these water marbles we call eyes,
vising aught a slivered percentage of All; point zero zero three five.
Consider via pineal how greener the leaf, how bluer the fjord,
And oh, what joy to divine what a miscarried fate would have mete the sword.

This poem is Copyright ยฉ invierno

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