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Hits different
It feels so
Surreal
somehow in it, but not of it
The oil was not quenching
The water was not balm
Our Fire was soothing
Our ice searing
In Revleation,
Nothing remains the same
The birds chirp becomes a squawk
A sensual kiss becomes a cold peck
Time conspires
Light becomes the exposer
Darkness a harbour
But, what ever the change;
to the heart,
It is of no consequence.
It
just
hits
different.
let it lap and fill you
Sometimes when darkness becomes a harbour, we need only lay back and stop navigating, to feel the warm sensuous lap of the sea.
They tell me that this kind
They tell me that this kind of poem is really difficult to write: poseurs and wannabe's cannot write to this level of quality. But you have written it as if invented the concept, and I applaud your literary accomplishment here.
Starward
Each line gave off an
Each line gave off an electrifying spark of recognition as I saw myself in your journey. And isn't that what the best poetry does? Under the dazzle (And you've got it, my friend!), we make a connection that reaches deep, rattles us, even changes us.
With your own lithe, glistening and contagiously emotive style, plus a brilliant handling of dichotomy, you invited me to explore my own feelings about change.
How quotable and on target is your conclusion that, for all my own aching and moaning about change, perhaps it's not a cruel, cosmic joke after all; perhaps it's not even good or bad:
"It
just
hits
different."
A thought-provoking success. Loving it! Be well.
THIS hits different
holds a lifetime worth of story that diminishes any such romance to bland sorrow. and the pop-culture reference makes a great frame for the big picture of your clever camera!
bananas are the perfect food
for prostitues