| Paul Kren |
| Swiss Poem Account Collection |
| Poem Account Poets Paul Kren wylde Barry Fitton Joshua Griffin jota Craig Moore panta rhei Orphicgoblin judih |
| comments: judih@hotmail.com |
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| Poetry IV in the resolution blissfully insane the deep tell ma i said hi (a letter home) an empty vessel |
| in the resolution tis i the binding of thought falls away the medium becomes the maximum the mum becomes the nun the nun becomes the none each tuesday a child is taken on the wild ride to maturity we the ADD dults try to bend time into the past twisting the minds of the innocent there is nothing there not that we know for sure anyway yet to be right we lie we pretend yes virginia there is a santa and no michael no one ever really dies the torn faces of grief on the television the burning homes they are there we are here our island is safe secure complete no no no come this unbent moment in time when im just me the truth is just this look at it, who are you it is a kind of peace when your legs go numb you tongue goes numb you words go numb someday i will speak of these things, and i wont cry. the deep it is there when the winding wind relaxes when the ripples still it is there deeper than conversation full of power, yet ever so gentle it is there, in the deep, I do not know its name, but I am of it. perhaps there are others. as silence makes its way out of chaos, they will see me. tell ma i said hi ( a letter home) i banged on this empty drum for years my tears stains my eye stains never even near this emptiness encompassing the moment then die, i said die don't give me the shit we all know this shit people come and go break it down into breadcrumbs i can follow go i hate it when people do that to me put you in a spot that you have to pretend to be who you really are, no that sucks so we made it anyway life became a carnival then a carnivore but its all good ya know. tell ma i said hi an empty vessel people come and go freely i sit alone thundering silently touching the stars with a finger the moon rests in the hallow of my hand what need do i have of the trappings of the world blissfully insane i wander through this world like an idiot, not knowing where my home is pushing a shopping cart of other peoples words i stumble into alleyways seeking people in quiet desperation reaching into the cart, i hand them a picture of compassion, an empty love wrapper, a hollow tube of comfort, a knowing look. the void of madness and the void of the unknowing are the same. |
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| contact the poet: pkren48@absolute-net.com |