Sentenced

 A diminutive hour

Tiny clocks ticking their tiny strokes

And bearded windows singing in saintly rain decrees

Tinkering.

I lust this opportunity, these seconds to

Forgive, 

Angelic as fools we are

Faces filled in crumbs

Angling

Till in bird-bitten rooms we stand alone

I lust this fate

Pacing detonation towards the door

No heroes following

No ogre waits to charge

We alone invent deception

We alone delight the forgery to imbibe

Old hands dangling in late night guilty haiku

A half-happened, half-trickery stance

We wear old shoes

Till

 without breath in our own diminutive hour 

A fume brings elder wood and night 

Our smiles in chrysalis erupt and with one stroke of wing

Our answers arrive

You let this fill you

Knowing

No better than thus

To fly

Reviews

[Dr. YumnaKay]

"We alone invent deception
We alone delight the forgery to imbibe"
So true.
Loved the reality of this composition..

[Perdition]

Thanks ...always inspiring to get fresh perspective.

[Dr. YumnaKay]

You are welcome! My pleasure ☺

[Alisa Js]

There are those certain souls that torch our soul...

... and because of that, we are eternally blessed.

Wishing you well across the miles...

Alisa ;-)

[Perdition]

Baskets filled I hope..my arm extorted so as to walk the sand as you relay more treasures. Thanks HI.

[Perdition]

extended*... :)

[Alisa Js]

Baskets are getting there.. ;-0

After speaking with a wise and treasured friend, I have decided to take his advice and write from a deeper perspective with respect to the baskets...

... to reveal those treasures within.

Wishing for you everything amazing, always...

Alisa ;-)

[Gypsy Warrior Queen]

I walked outside the other day and saw two different breads of turtle just two feet from each other scouring for substance. They didn't hear me approach at first. Then in my looming they sought shelter....so unknowing of each other. Almost unbelieving of each other's existence. Ignorant of their role in the space.I realize how ignorant we are just bumping along...without purpose...without understanding...without external existance....no better than thus...to fly.

[Perdition]

"Then in my looming they sought shelter"..sorta says it all. Be it the shadows or the flickering of consciousness through consciousness..we seek the better, that shelter of familiar. Thanks! And say hi to them turtles for me or be the lone turtle god.

[emmajoy]

Perhaps we hide behind self.created sentences.. both and all kinds, shapes and sizes. Seing selves for what we've become. And then, perhaps, escape is the only cure... only we know the answer to that.

Finely but sadly surreal a creation, this.. needs reading more than once.. whether or not to discover the true meaning!

[Perdition]

You find this sadly surreal and I drink from the fountain of memory and smile...I love that. To let any creation belong wherever it is or however appreciated, well that's a
poet's greatest wish. Thanks E. I think I hear a blackbird calling my destruction. Smiles.

[emmajoy]

You turned the table on words!

[Perdition]

But I didn't spill the wine...Old habits~

[emmajoy]

Nor should you...