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circles

Crimson ultraviolet lust

And I could fill my head with sand

to sink to the bottom of the ocean 

And wait for it land

Then soak me up 

Like nothing more than soapy water splashed against a car

Over and over

Until we sparkle with diamonds in our eyes 

And love in our hearts

 

Because maybe just then

We can finally realize that all good things come to an end 

That it's worth it sometimes

To laugh until you cry 

 

To feel the cold snow pressed up against every inch of your thigh

To love before you die

Just to lose it all

to black emptiness 

All floating around in a space we call nothing

 

Like the inside of a closet before you turn on the light

Then you’re sucked up into life again

Before falling back down into dirt 

Becoming apart of the ground and the soil until you’ve morphed into seeds

Into a tree

Then made back into that same closet 

Its a cycle, like thinking in circles 

Drawing in circles 

Becoming nothing more than a piece of paper is what I deserve 

So someone can draw on me a circle 

 

Until I return to the ground to start all over again

Until I finally can realize 

What it means to be alive and accept the endless circle of life 

And love and loss and lust 

And dark bitter unfaltering blackness until a star explodes big enough to end it all

Until we start again 

🌷(3)

existentialismlifecircle

◄ the lack of you

Comments

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Mon 11th Jan 2021 14:48

Thanks for your 'like' on my most recent poem. I like your work too, the 'machinery of your mind'. IMO, the closing lines of this work are superb.

Does the human being actually 'morph into seeds' or soil? Mind or matter? Just asking.

I think the 'circle' is possibly the most illuminating and the most deceptive of all mathematical proofs versus imagination. Comfort or control has always been my conundrum.

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Tom

Wed 24th Jun 2020 16:52

There is a really pleasing freshness to the way you write. I enjoyed this a lot. Write on! ? T.A.

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Shifa Maqba

Tue 23rd Jun 2020 05:02

So honest and real! You've birthed a mirror with your words. The cycle of life seems like a chore, but picking yourself after falling down is indeed the most courageous thing to do.

A wonderful, bitter-sweet blend of hope and melancholy. Loved it!

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