RipplesA Poem by Kyle Buser
Many steps have I taken,
None have lead me here, I leave them in my wake. Each step shapes the snow, Frozen remnants of a journey, No beginning, no end. A train of thought, Strong with inertia, A snapping twig derails. Stillness spoken by shapeless trees Mental illness broken by the unconceived In my natural environment I don't exist, Something like a riddle, Gone on arrival. Form comes undone as the winds blow, Scattered to the air, seeds made of dusted snow, Cracking a seed you'll find no fruit, Some things you can neither rush nor brute, Open your mind you'll find your proof, Leave it behind you'll find the truth.
© 2016 Kyle Buser |
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Added on December 2, 2014 Last Updated on June 21, 2016 Author
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