Can You Guess My Name

A New View


Counting snowflakes and raising cats

they mewl and scratch growing sharp claws.

No ventures into the spaces beyond the door,

no way to fix the broken. Waiting is saved

like solitude is spoken, the net a link

to salvation.


Drawing a wing is a difficult task, yet

there is providence in a rhyme. And though

I do not rhyme, I visit anyway. The day

brightens when the ideas are lightly

presented to the air, like butterflies.


Out there on some netherworld right cloud

around like thinkers no room for any other view

but yours makes the world free but not

real or more balanced. 


You taught me the meaning of hero again.

Painted better and better words showing

courage. A lesson. You are still  here,

in these words, in these thoughts

left for us to remember ourselves by.


Laughter. A side wise smirk at a world

too complexed. It gets twisted with saying

and goes mute occasionally to unwind.

Ranting is an artform when weilded

by a Master of All Things Ironic.


She and Christ are having long conversations

now. An occasional reminder of what you

saids and a lot of legs swinging from clouds.

And yes, the wings are pastel and the singing.

Oh, the singing!







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