I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
Power sets you free All of your strangest yearnings Can become the law
By D. J. Reddallabout a month ago in Poets
Thawing and freezing Lively talk and cold silence Everything becomes
By D. J. Reddall2 months ago in Poets
Why did you turn the picture? Because, like many, I read from left to right When you look, you mustn't just see the picture
Softness is no synonym for weakness Wild, wailing wars are woven from whispers Quislings and quidnuncs spread subtle madness
Proceed with caution, for a day will come When the fragile world you've carefully made Will leave you alienated, lonesome
A representation of you, thinking About a paper womb, like your birthplace What will you put in there, incubating To take form, and earn applause or disgrace?
Abductions abroad Icy massacres at home Bedlam and ballrooms
Your feelings do not matter to winter It has neither pity nor compassion; No smile will its icy visage splinter Nor will your pleas a path through it fashion
Many idiots Read my pale laundry as a Sign of surrender
Donning the harness Following brief liberty Chaps all healthy hides
Cult and culture spring from the same root Romans struggled to keep barbarism at bay Within themselves and their sprawling domain alike
Heretics between Days that are blessed and holy Lost, listless limbos
