No clue

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No clue

Unreal the world feels,
To me it does
Wafting away the point
The point is what is to be discovered
It has no feeling as It touches
gloriously
Against
Rich textures between
It hurts
But it doesn’t
That which cannot be felt
pressing Deep wedges in
With my hands burning
Harder and harder and harder.


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A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

sirhcking’s Poems (15)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Time 1
Fearing unknown 1
There's absence in the air 0
The quiet dissonance 0
Religion 2
Finding yourself lost 0
Yet again I do not know 0
Happiness 2
The is the name ppetry is the game 1
No clue 0
Love 0
Mind? 0
Untitled 0
? 0
no title 0