For once there was a perfect time, filled with perfect, in perfect rhyme.
The laze of man, of thing and things and all the emptiness that human brings
Met with perfect, at the door, dropped it’s bag and cried no more.
Yet human man he soon forgot, built his castle, learned to rot.
Forgot that perfect, held his hand, tolled the roads, ploughed the land.
Then one day when man was old, a moment touched, a silence hold.
Of a perfect day, not noticed then, cared then less, cared not again.
It’s that call that calls him now.
Frets the beads, upon his brow.
For….
…….perfect came and perfect went
A perfect moment, no man has spent
For perfect is as perfect be, perfect touch, as perfect see.
Yes perfect called, this man missed thee
For perfect shouts, so silently.
Perfect kissed with perfect breath
Then perfect looked,
Then perfect,
left.∞
Read by the author
Credits: poem @ justme; Image: CatrinPhoto; All rights reserved.
Liberation is not the formation of words or rhetoric but the embracing of silence. That perfect silence, so available it is ignored for its dullness of being. Yet grab its breath, hold it hand and fill thy souls, for simple is as simple needs and simple sacrifice, stands and bleeds. Simple sits so wild and free, yet simple cares, yes it cares, so silently.
When darkness’s deepest hour, did claim.
To scourge the earth and fire the shame
and poured the moon with ashen lead
They banished the stars as the planets bled
Suffocating water then murdered the sun
grasslands begged as blood green valleys run.
Dominoed forests, fell from a single push
Volcanoes strangled with a deadly crush.
Cracking open the earth they spilled lava free.
Sucked up the rivers
and finally,
drained out the sea.
Just Poems 