An inference of platitudes
a circle
and defining latitude, a foreign
thought, a cross
across sovereign skies
intertwined tales of lassitude
a 3 pence secret
and yellowed articles that
speak of it
In front of the old brownstone
with the oaken door
a brass knob
turned the opening
thereby, gaining entry
in time born of an odd
soliloquy
the remnant unfettered
I noticed it changed your gait
left unlocked, the gate
swung in silently on
freshly oiled hinges
privy to the partly secluded, you
saw the closing
once you spoke of
the orange Tom-cat
asleep on the porch.
Certain you were that his presence
heralded great import, but
it went undiscovered
for the longitude
of your whereabouts
lead you to the place of
moist earth and ancient artifacts
safely tucked away
for all those years, eyes wide
unfurled for your witness
the fateful dissertations that followed
worded the discovery
for some doctor’s education.
To a degree,
I never could grasp
the lessening that imbued the
curve of you, as
you stood atop the stairs
the day the circle was joined.
Ache. The mystery is what does it.
I don’t know what to say except I love this.
Maybe if I had been drinking coffee instead of wine, some helpful feedback might come… 🙂
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Thanks Vanessa 💕
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Your always blossom the most creative ideas of all time. Your poetic style and words always get me to think and question things about poetry itself and life itself.
This right here is brilliantly well written. 2 thumbs way up! my friend. 🙂
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Thanks my friend 🙏
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You welcome my friend. 🙂 Your a good person. 🙂
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that’s very kind of you! I believe the same about you:)
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