HeArt Affliction

Of what am I sick?
Of what is ill?
Only genes and decay
Of the physical vessel;
That leptonic space between thought

Free my will, I will
To once again soar
In the realms

And form new worlds
Not known before

I am not the writing
The words are not me,
They never can be!

Just a feeble attempt
To say what I see
About the sickness
Of me

Casting away shadows
Time isn't in rhyme
Not using sight of designs
On the subjective sides

Plain words won't say
So the closest I find,
Is Pollack's expression
Of behind the mind


CLPridemore 2012©

The Order of Chaos

Pollack bloomed late
But not me
I can't find it in my Fall
Small promise in my Spring
Splashed across our house wall

Doors are closing
I have the keys
But refuse to believe
I can use them

Don't like this writ of sad
I long for the positive hand
Knowing all is not
Golden Ratio
But parts are hues,
Not just the Bright White
Nor only the Black Dark

All sentients are learning this;
How to choose to evolve
To heed Treadwell's baby-cry
We create and destroy
together - one in the same

Of this,
I cannot speak
Mere language cannot hold
IT's name.

© CL Pridemore 2012 (01.011.11  - 12:55A CST)

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