Invisible

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    Invisible

    Maybe ~

    my voice has been
                      or is just

    a never-ending echo
    of poetry once recited
    in a moment of clarity 

                                   in which . .

                                   no one else could see
                                   or has been clear about

                                                                                       fears not heard
                                                                                       nor recognised

                                                                                                    denied
                                                                                                  mocked
                                                                                                  doubted
                                                                                                  ridiculed                                                                                                                                disbelieved

                                    how do I . .

                                    defend against
                                    that which can’t be seen

                                    when I’ve imagined it all . ?

    hear :

    my silence scream

                           wrest
           from my chest

    disguised
    camouflaged frailties

     

                                    my dark horse
                                    has always been

                                       a   u n i c o r n

                                                                                              I long ago :

                                                                                         once believed
                                                                                    that all there was
                                                                                    was me

                                                                                     and nothing else
                                                                                                 mattered

                                                                                   but for the belief . .

     

                                      and come now to realise

                                      that belief is not truth

     

                                                                belief :

     

                                      is but perceptions

                                      of our own making

     

    truth is . .

     

    well it's truth . !

     

                 a b s e n t  .  .

                 tones
                 shades                      
                 colours                    
                 geometry
                 deception
                 contrition
                 penitence
                 bleeding

                                             no depth :

                                             no light
                                             no darkness

                                              no good
                                              no evil                                                                            

                                              no religion
                                                    no god

     

                                                    i t   j u s t   i s  .  !

     

                                                    and so it seems  

     

                                                   No matter
                                                   how loud we scream

     

                                         I n v i s i b l e    V i s i b i l i t y

        
         
    © mingoáo - 明 - The Writings of Mingoáo Inc. is the exclusive agent, publisher-distributor of the Writings, Designs and Ideas of Mingoáo. No part nor whole of the Work exhibited herein may be copied, transcribed, reproduced, performed, nor, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, not by carrier pigeon, pony express, smoke signal, slingshot, sled dog, not even by alien spacecraft, nor stored by any information storage and/or retrieval system, past, present or future, nor translated, without the expressed written consent of the Owner. ~ By displaying, exhibiting, publishing or presenting this work Privately or Publicly, the Owner in no way perceived or believed, relinquishes his rights to the work partially or entirely -  Not to be Copied, Altered, Forwarded, Distributed, Shared, Nor Transferred. There’s no warranty; not even for Merchantability or Fitness For a, and, or any Particular Purpose.

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    Poetry is what is lost in translation.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    Ming’s Poems (22)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    Ziggurat 0
    PanYard 0
    Ritual Sacrifice 0
    Invisible 0
    If You Rest You Starve 0
    Once Upon a Boatride 0
    Today I Woke up Dead 0
    monster Monsters . . . 0
    Puppet 0
    I Just Wanna 0
    The Wanting 0
    I am 0
    The Devil is a Bad Man 0
    Black Rain 0
    The Floods Never Came 0
    My Favourite Colour 0
    I Can Breathe Again 0
    Reaper 0
    The Drones Are Coming 0
    Like Cocaína in Medellín 0
    Demons 0
    Get a Helmet 0