Of Things

Of Prose And Poetry...

The hand holding The Langauge Pen,
The word itself,
Knows no difference;
Either way,
They sing of Complimenting Infinite Meaning.

Of Van Morrison's Flamingoes Fly cut on The Philosopher's Stone...

The piano is the wind,
The guitar is the seagulls soaring above,
The bass is the waves of the ocean,
The voice is the heart.

Of, Did you know...

Sometimes, people speak to others in such dramatic fashion, in order to ascertain another perspective (consciously, unconsciously/super consciously).

Of the question of two...

Am I taking you?
Or are you having me?
Until you and I are singular,
So the question will be.

Of Human Kind...

They had eyes made to see All.

Of wordplay...

Compassion
Come passion
Co-me passion

Now
Know
No now...
O-K.

Of One's idea of resolution...

O! How Mind, finds ways,
To be All things.

Reviews

[NotUsinganymore]

Very wonderful poem, when we write even if it's in different languages, it has meaning. We all are connected through writings.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

wow, aren't we lucky to have language? and to be able to play with it and on it and within it?
the mind is all things...and it dictates our thoughts and what we write down...we just go with the flow...
and the muse comes and goes, ebbs and flows...
and as the Bee Gees sang "it's only words and words are all i have to take your heart away"---
j.