We always searched for the center,
the dark hole of a naked mind.
World moved in concentric rings,
like onion peels.
I scream at myself,
on the absurdity of finding,
A truth which had expired.
If the trees could talk in end,
and bail out
the saint of fallen apes
I will start measuring,
the deafness of a storm,
its eyes squinting
and whose deep genitalia,
had delivered a still birth.
Why should we mourn
for the unfolding disaster?
The loneliness and despair,
are not the big themes.
And no body cares to listen,
to the ripped confessions.
A purple patch appears on the green heart.
You may think ME absurd, but somehow this made me think of the heat wave we are experiencing, and the absence of rain. We hear thunder, have a sprinkling of drops to wet the pavement for minutes, then the storm passes on. I don't feel desperate about the weather, but I am asking the Lord to send rain.
Maybe when I grow up, I'll understand the whole meaning of this interesting poem.
David Hightower’s lyrically expansive meditation on the whims of fate and the unpredictability of the human condition fill the pages of THE HANGING MAN DREAMS with thrilling music and mesmerizing imagery. Hightower’s richly infused voice echoes the e
Inspirational poetry, written from the heart and soul. Verses that are well-suited for reading on a rainy day and that are guaranteed to bring a smile to your face.
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George
A beautiful thought provoking poem
Mary
Maybe when I grow up, I'll understand the whole meaning of this interesting poem.
Connie