I am beset by boundaries
of living and dying
using creativity as a drug
Climbing the stairs to the attic of my imagination
to see what cobwebs lie in wait
shuffling between shadows and music
where my true heart lies
And those words that float
in the ethers of the world wide
among the electrics and electrons
settling like dust on furniture
Of spoken thoughts left abandoned
detritus and throw away lines
that may
or may not outlive me
an epitaph to my grand delusion
I think; therefore I was
before I forgot the question
and milk
You can castigate me
castrate me
but my words will be the death of me yet...
A contest entry
- Immortal (For Marc Creamore) by just rob.
40000 points, ended November 22, 42 entries
• next poem in this contest, • Add to finalists list, or remove from contest - So You Think You Can Write by skyviewexpress.
600 points, ended November 11, 69 entries
• next poem in this contest, • Add to finalists list, or remove from contest
I'm so
Comments
-
well done. What an ending...
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I sometimes wonder if Rene Descartes had writers in mind when he came up with his famous quotation. This is a grand spilling of ink, David. Good luck in Rob's contest. 
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That ending is just so..so..well it's just Marc and Rob even and I know they will both enjoy this, it's concise and yet tells us all we need to know where humans and nature are concerned, I enjoyed it C
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