Old Letters
I am reading old letters to a friend.
From time to time I do this,
try to sneak behind the curtains of prose
catch a glimpse of my fingers in action,
weed the root of all honesty.
Words, under the stilted occupation of punctuation,
subject to the laws of gravity’s grammar,
maturing on the page, but unlike wine,
lose all flavor, turn spontaneous thoughts
into catch-phrase.
In that moment
as my eyes assimilate the comma
and the onset,
in the nucleus of a sound
where creative material simmers,
the hole has been pillaged,
the trove emptied of content,
unleashing shameless phrases to chase the line
down into silence and heartfelt goodbyes.
Goodbyes come too late.
The pen moves under the invisible hand.
The traces of footprints in the sand
are left from boots I never wore.
#Unreal #Poetry #AllanGould #Letters #Calligraphy #WordFlow #ShamelessPhrases #Goodbye
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From time to time I do this,
try to sneak behind the curtains of prose
catch a glimpse of my fingers in action,
weed the root of all honesty.
Words, under the stilted occupation of punctuation,
subject to the laws of gravity’s grammar,
maturing on the page, but unlike wine,
lose all flavor, turn spontaneous thoughts
into catch-phrase.
In that moment
as my eyes assimilate the comma
and the onset,
in the nucleus of a sound
where creative material simmers,
the hole has been pillaged,
the trove emptied of content,
unleashing shameless phrases to chase the line
down into silence and heartfelt goodbyes.
Goodbyes come too late.
The pen moves under the invisible hand.
The traces of footprints in the sand
are left from boots I never wore.
#Unreal #Poetry #AllanGould #Letters #Calligraphy #WordFlow #ShamelessPhrases #Goodbye
Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter.
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