by Liar
I love this and require my thermometer.
For those who can notice such things,
these walls must roar
in echo of sentences never spoken,
and other ungodly expressions never exclaimed
into the stale air, this perpetual stench,
indecisives' sweat impregnated
in eiderdown, oak and leather.
Original, moving. Seems all my poet friends are outdoing themselves by leaps and bounds. Nice work.
Inside of you,
must be that spark of genius,
awaiting the instant
where you but open your lips
and let the flame burst;
soaring like a solar flare
escaping the gravity
of its tumultuous parent.
I only just discovered this.
this poem throws one to the floor and keeps riding over and over every sensation, burning into ones mind, obsessive contemplation is drawn out as every line hits.
This poem was selected from Lit's archive of over 40,000 poems for inclusion in today's Archival Review.<br>
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