Posterity's Home

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  • Time

    Posterity's Home

    A breeze whips through the corridor and threatens to extinguish the light,

    But it is only the whisper of a time-passed and a promise for the future.

     

    Memories settle in the crevices of the aging house

     and begin to coat the windows

    With their distortion-

     

    Blinded from the unchangeable jungle surrounding the exterior,

    The interior remains safe within the light of the fireplace

    as the floorboards begin to creak

    and the foundation resettles into an experienced philosophy.

     

    Skeletons of years past clutter the closet as monsters creep back under the bed to sleep.

    Asleep:

    The spindle has cast Beauty asleep as Vanity waits

    For the knight with the kiss to reawaken the passions killed-

    Dead through deceptive malintention and ignorance.

     

    Naivety lies motionless on the satin luster

    While Maturity paints its face with cynicism.

    This home is where the heart of a dreamer lies.

     

    Within the white walls the gray doesn’t seem to matter,

    But it all lies in the gray matter:

    This photo-

    This sketch-

    This fantasy-

    This reality-

    This memory…

     

    It all adds another wrinkle for Posterity’s sake

    Whose gently woven dress makes waves in the space she occupies

    While brewing coffee for Father-

     

    -Time is a factor multiplied to a circle.

    Infinite comprehension encircling the brain;

    Sending signals:

    Neurotic explosions firing rapidly in the eye movements

    Moving towards blink.

     

    Blink once and see reality;

    Twice to see the fantasy;

    Three times to clear the sleep away and comprehend the gray,

     

    Or don’t blink at all

    ‘cause there’s no place like home

    in the mind of a madman

    playing with dreams to erase tagged insane logic

    that negates social tract-housing

     

    The sun shines in the kitchen where

    Conversation takes place and the world is changed.

     

    Gentle beams shine off the dress of Posterity,

    Illuminating the distinct shades of the three-threaded weave:

    Be careful not to cut one.


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    CdeM commented on Posterity's Home

    07-06-2009

    A-W-E-S-O-M-E, your grasp of language is beautiful, and seems to come easy to you from the perfect flow and composition...

    If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.

    Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) American poet.

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