stonepoem : poems & poetry

Only on the edges of the edge
will you truly feel alive.
so says the brutish soul
grubbing through the mud and oil
spitting blood and drowning
low in anger flood.
sneering at the lonely stride
the boneless trudge
the spineless push
towards a vacant ledge
like aimless grudges sent
before a shameless judge -
the honey thieves are out of breath,
and children sad with thoughts of death.
one step forward then we’re all gone
one turn back and everything
survives.

It was a wise machine that wound
this ball of string as tight as season rings
somewhere it started and somewhere it will end
the whirl of things not right nor wrong - just reasoning
yet ’somewhere it begins’ feels like pretence -
footsteps wandering round and circling lost
halls of uncrowned kings and no choirs sing -
again not right nor wrong - just reasoning.
Words; the thrum of strands within threads
tight-wrapped filaments beyond permanence
time is now to untangle their intent
entwined within the twisted firmament.