 |
|
| The Place Of Sedition |
| I'm standing in the corner, that no lights corner of my mind, can find no crossing bridges, no marked path to draw a line. There is no reference point, no sign, no post, no tracking. No idea will take shape to thought, to be forgiven lacking. There are no walls here to touch, as walls are thought to be. There is no color, but not black, amorphous, but not seen. I wait cold in the stillness, floating for what, something now, I blend too smoothly with this place, so fearing of the how. I cannot hear if I am breathing, I feel no blood run in my skin. What is there to touch, not myself, from that I will leap again. There could be no others here, the silence makes me safe. No destinies, no haunts, nor guilt, as my peace be shaped. I am the making of another, that will not be born any day. I am the essence of a past that stays the present way to the future. There is no change, only staid repetition. This is my answer, no scream, but single, blunt sedition. � 2000 DPMcClellan |
 |
 |