Does it make sense
To own one’s desires
And hold you in
My arms, closed and
Warm like a phosphene
Memorised, drunk and dead
Looking in your eyes,
Trying to make sense
Of the patterns of
Life with what you
Have to judge and classify
Sensual emotions, letting
Go the anarchic impulses
And try to make sense
Of one’s own desires
Holding my arms in
Closed, memorised emotions
In encrypted phosphenes
as the music seeps deeper in the recesses of my neuronic pathways pathways like the water of the first rain in the hungry earth i rejoice the feeling of being alive
Everyone writes poetry I used to try too Till the day I saw The sad and the good The sublime, the trippy Unlike anything I had seen From that day I have lost My ability to create a rhyme Everything that seemed mundane Suddenly seems so sublime
Shifting Focusdisappointedthat no onelooks athimthe performerstarted tolook athimselfand enjoyingwhat hedidforgot thefaint signsdisappointmentlost in hisown worldintimately interconnectedand whenhe wasdrawn tothe beautyof silenceand visualisedthe...
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