The Gravestone



I wonder if they even make a profit

Or these things just exist in epic proportions

For a reason otherwise, in the garden.

Hope for the soul and only the soul

Seems the singular truth of this universe,

And nothing else apart from the maelstrom

Whirls in a kind of crazy, feverish dance

Sedated in sorrow of ever sprouting

Dead yet undying structures for whatever.

We've become a product of our own shrill

Like not a clean tomorrow might will

Dissolution of all confusion. Gravestone


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Starward's picture

Good observations in a very

Good observations in a very poetic language that is, despite its beauty, effectively disturbing.


Dalton's picture


And your comment enhances precisely what you mean:

When I looked at it again, you helped send me shivers, aye.

Thanks for being a part of living perception.