How is it the mind wraps around seeds of decaying roots?
When a birds beak beacons the fruit from which it rests
on branches sated swaying heavy with emotion
then flies from whence it came by rowan tree
seeking out its deliverance by procuring life
while furthest from the woods of conception
rains fills the fields of contemplation
procreation of the fertile soil becomes mud in its earnest
thus to be held in the swamp of confusion
sinking in the quicksand of reality
awakened in the mire of asphyxiation
Author notes
no words allowed - these are not words they are illusions
A contest entry
- fuck you by sheltered.
900 points, ended November 26, 2008, 8 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
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so very cool
and original
wow
this will be a hard one to judge
maybe when i'm sober
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I think I 'get' it too...though it is pretty deep lol
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I get it
very wise my friend
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