I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
Genre theory doesn’t get much respect But then again, what does at the moment? It might be bright to history inspect To find out what the thing’s name really meant
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Poets
None of it is ours We are designed to receive Accept and transmit
The breeze is soothing Visits are not intrusions Brief is their beauty
Too many warnings Create cowardly culture Ready to submit
If you both know what You’re doing and believe it Is right, joy follows
Attending a film should be delightful Because a ribbon of dreams unfurls there Causing the trivial cares of the day Dramatically to fade and dissolve
Misuse and abuse Of words robs them of meaning Was that traumatic?
Amnesiacs, all: forgetting about A plague that left no part of this world whole As if the thing itself we really doubt
The other humans Who drive you completely mad Are also mortal
Ares, god of war Stay your bloody sword and grant Tired mortals peace
Misunderstanding Womb of a thousand evils Withers as you read
Jesters who reveal Ugly truths with their jesting Are soon rushed offstage
