I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
Cult and culture spring from the same root Romans struggled to keep barbarism at bay Within themselves and their sprawling domain alike
By D. J. Reddall2 months ago in Poets
Heretics between Days that are blessed and holy Lost, listless limbos
Winter is fluent in kinds of silence Utterly baffling to other times Of what sounds there are, the dog can make sense But they would mean nothing in other climes
What really matters Is how things appear to be On various screens
All of the grim facts seem to conspire Against this mad impulse, to walk alone Through fresh snow and wind, a frozen wire
Ash and snow mingle Winter's cold exhalation A lone ember glows
Harmonize your parts: Feel with cool lucidity Think passionately
Your trivial queries annoy the gods! Horse races, politics, lotteries, girls; I am not here to calculate the odds But to read the future as it unfurls
Humane, laughing hearts A bigoted crank from Queens Never a contest
Pay no attention to the dire warnings The system is not broken It is working perfectly To create exactly this life For all of the participants in it
Representatives Should be chosen carefully They reveal our taste
We imitate the river on our way Destinations turn into departures As to and fro, night flows into bright day My horse is a methodical marcher
