The Suffering of ChangesA Poem by L. Norris
It is an interest, warping worlds with words
While cascading textures of thought deplete Themselves in rough rhythms, prose, myth, life; Till the drab colorlessness wished me be a synesthete. A wandering notepad nomad carrying yellow sharpened wands Or the kind that click with chrome caps on the back, That is my kind: black magic wands bend lead Through a metamorphosis, a change, though in these events I lack The ability to form coherency of mind Words wither to silence, no sentences found. Changes in style, changes in the techniques I meander In a dark place, where the poet is unsound. It is a muse of nothing that damns this suitor, this seeker In part, trapped in a black slippery pit And beyond this corner, bleak and Dismal, the stability of unquestioning faith is. Oh, how I wish to be there! I wish, I want, with you my muse To wander freely as we did in that life before, But all that is changed in the present time, the hues Of living systems, the balancing of rhymes, gone. Done with my mad incantations on truth, reality; Found, you the muse read the sentence: You have driven yourself to this corner. Incompetent. Doomed. Then nothing. © 2008 L. NorrisReviews
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3 Reviews Added on February 25, 2008 AuthorL. NorrisHarrisburg, PAAboutInterests: Literary Theory, Metaphysics, Meditation, Linguistics, Semantics, Number Theory, Physics, Language, Veganism, Aesthetics, Metaliterature, Russian Literature, Yoga, Perfection. Favorite Re.. more..Writing
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