Warm as I wake,
Still clothed
In the arithmetic
Of dreams;
A few sentiments
Found
Like gold flecks
In the pan,
Tangible and inert
To oxidising approach
Of the fast and probable day.
Yet there they are,
Untarnished evidence
Of my mind’s wandering,
Its sinuous, filamentous
Questioning
In to that untapped,
That mystical
And incorporeal.
© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015
The words you use here are exactly right!♡
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Thanks Candice. That means a lot coming from such a talent, as you are.
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Right back at you my lovely friend♡
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Beautiful! I love poetry
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thanks very much
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