time is a lake fed by the moon

time is a lake fed by the moon
solitude running by itself for days
birds lost in the machinery
feathers in the grease of progress

there is a mountain by that lake
a waterfall that roars to heaven
with rainbows flickering
and deities laughing at the beggars lie

semiotic madness drives the poet
with metaphors more beautiful than breath
with visions that flicker at the rim
of every day solitude ending

serendipity is a matter of why
one man meets his destiny
with his eyes held high above the wind
and others just fold and fade




Poetry by Bob
Read 654 times
Written on 2016-02-28 at 23:44

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I love all of it, but the last stanza is great. Your elegance with words is always a pleasure to read.
Ashe
2016-02-29