i'm growing in His plans...
***blush, blush***
 

Poetic Junk Sampler

‌‌  Counting ‌‌  Hourglass ‌‌  Fools ‌‌

Counting

 

A few words.

Half a part of  hellos

Never a fugue that whirls into a nightmare.

A handful of pilfering glances.

Apoplectic shocks within your stance.

Unknown deference to your archetype

Non-absent penchant for your hand�s clasp

A whit of concern for the rippling world

Oh� nonchalance may I add�

A crescent moon�s light for blithe.

My reprehensible discourses.

You�re immeasurably oblivious

to my tacit ripostes.

Daily dirge for unresolved stares

Every morning after, insouciant again.

Erratic fortitude, have I got a grain?

Weekly nonexistence, only to return.

Incessant maidens pleading congeniality.

Light years from sanity.

My scarcity in understanding

Though you�re overflowing with such.

I solidly stop.

A visage tells it all.

Reflection, I am not.

Skittish poems.

Condign to be by your side?

Deign to my assumption.

A fabulist�s reveries

Of the indefatigable years.

Former internal requiems

Presently alleviated.

Eventual madness.

Eventually sane.

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Hourglass

 

Pounded at crystals,

Pounded with might.

Glistens from the escaping, slurred light

From the now tired sun

Lying still while they daydream

-of moments of lightyears

daydreaming of scintillating its own light

 

a hand tilts it over.

Now they all move to a fill

Awaiting their turn, through the chute down to fall

 

Excited, still reflecting,

Daydreams soars, daydreaming even more

-having their own sparkle

as if from the sky

            falling down

                        falling down

                                    falling stars

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Fools

 

Crawling from beneath

            Every shadow and every form.

 

Slowly you take shape

            As your audience do not come to pause

To hear your roar

            As if you live, as if you breathe

In the same crisp air, they know life

            Their life.

 

Slithering from behind,

            Morphing from time to time.

As you slowly master their lines, their strokes, their signs.

 

Pretense�       �so badly done

            Parodist.

            We laugh

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