Array ( [sid] => 185954 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Time Giggled Upon Itself [time] => 2019-03-02 22:40:15 [hometext] => Roared out of a dream to scribble the essence of it [bodytext] => Time giggled upon itself in
DhryeemneosisDy.
Eyes met indifferently when just
yesterday
or one of the other lives,
one gurgled the other’s last drop of water,
tore the last shred of meat from that
tepid, palsied grasp.
“I can’t defend my ends- it is yours”.
Not even echoes of resentment,
grown so dead
life was ever
but a teasing dream,
buried without need
under shards of reality,
tons of it where
spatial displacement is an amusement.

The corpse of hope bound both with more finality
than weak strands, once stranded,
proudly yelling, “I am Rope!”
Children with the illusion of free will.

Pain,
so long in malingering,
burned past due bills for movement,
losing it’s memory
of what it was;
with nothing to evict it,
it set up camp under
a tuneless tune dredged
from xeroxed emotion;
relishing newly ripped bleeding feet,
grateful for the sensation.
Canvass now set against dew and dawn,
logs coaxed on a lie to life to die;
all the trimmings representing
the outline of fun
done
in a cadaver ghosted smile.

An abstract road,
shoulderless,
drew
two dots
eye to eye
to shoulder’s breathing kiss.
One eye brow in Promethean gust
twitched a flick
alighting on the other’s limb.
My arm, ah,
I see you grew stronger muscles on it
than I ever could.
Good.
Use it, and make it out alive.

This astonishing display of empathy
flecked in four eyes to meet
round the circle
on the plain
in the night
to the echoed shuffles
of other seekers
of arms and eyes.
They can and do
by right.

Dispassionate, four orbs orbless in a blink
arrived at the station,
known through a banging sign
on the windless sigh,
DhryeemneosisDy
Last Stop.

Massaging that final spark,
a symphony of Inevitable
broke the air,
piping tiredly upon the still
of non-linear interests.

Two backs
grew back into
dots neither cared
to sneak
a peek
of. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 111 [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 - Time Giggled Upon Itself


Time Giggled Upon Itself
Date: Saturday, 2nd March 2019 @ 10:40:15 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: invierno
Time giggled upon itself in
DhryeemneosisDy.
Eyes met indifferently when just
yesterday
or one of the other lives,
one gurgled the other’s last drop of water,
tore the last shred of meat from that
tepid, palsied grasp.
“I can’t defend my ends- it is yours”.
Not even echoes of resentment,
grown so dead
life was ever
but a teasing dream,
buried without need
under shards of reality,
tons of it where
spatial displacement is an amusement.

The corpse of hope bound both with more finality
than weak strands, once stranded,
proudly yelling, “I am Rope!”
Children with the illusion of free will.

Pain,
so long in malingering,
burned past due bills for movement,
losing it’s memory
of what it was;
with nothing to evict it,
it set up camp under
a tuneless tune dredged
from xeroxed emotion;
relishing newly ripped bleeding feet,
grateful for the sensation.
Canvass now set against dew and dawn,
logs coaxed on a lie to life to die;
all the trimmings representing
the outline of fun
done
in a cadaver ghosted smile.

An abstract road,
shoulderless,
drew
two dots
eye to eye
to shoulder’s breathing kiss.
One eye brow in Promethean gust
twitched a flick
alighting on the other’s limb.
My arm, ah,
I see you grew stronger muscles on it
than I ever could.
Good.
Use it, and make it out alive.

This astonishing display of empathy
flecked in four eyes to meet
round the circle
on the plain
in the night
to the echoed shuffles
of other seekers
of arms and eyes.
They can and do
by right.

Dispassionate, four orbs orbless in a blink
arrived at the station,
known through a banging sign
on the windless sigh,
DhryeemneosisDy
Last Stop.

Massaging that final spark,
a symphony of Inevitable
broke the air,
piping tiredly upon the still
of non-linear interests.

Two backs
grew back into
dots neither cared
to sneak
a peek
of.

This poem is Copyright © invierno


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