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there is a stir,
a flapping
and a slight murmuring---
this happens somewhere inside
near a rippling pond of flesh-red
memories
when outside commotion pricks
at all your beliefs;
one after the other, people are
milking the cow
leaving the calves hungry to bellow to
death;
your voice chokes between the swelled
tonsils,
they are infected…pollution?
so with the pricks it stirs and takes
you to the wildness,
the very remains of your ancient
forest spirit
and there you live in spite of all
odds
reviving from every blow
crooning wild dialects
of being true selves…
May we find our way back like the calves finding the cow
ReplyDeleteyes, thank you!
DeleteThis is such a clear and haunting poem. Thank you for sharing your words!
ReplyDeleteThank you so much!
Delete"ancient forest spirit" - I love your phrasing!
ReplyDeleteThe way you complete your poem is sublime.
ReplyDeleteCheers,
Mark
Thank you so much!
DeleteI like the description of being driven to one's ancient forest spirit.
ReplyDeletethe only escape....thank you!
Delete'EMeraLD
ReplyDeleteFoResT'
WiLD
WHeRe
Human
Clothes
ARe UltiMate SiN..
Also A Movie From: 1985 to:
Appropriately A Year After '1984'..:)
Thank you!
DeleteVery contemplative and creative poetry ~
ReplyDeleteHappy Week ahead to you,
A ShutterBug Explores,
aka (A Creative Harbor)