The Density of Foam (Sunday Scribblings)

The lack of grip
And things to hold
Have brought me to
A world unknown

So very far
From what was grasped
A flaming road
To nothingland

Where all is great
And glooming sad
For what may come
And never has

We’ll ride the slope
And sink with fire
To face this trench
Its cause: desire

Yet there is hazard
In the art of being
A fragile mix
Of pulsing light

Exposing will
In anxious needs
To burst expression
Or swallow dry

How one must squeeze
The bending notes
That bounce off walls
Like fleeting ghosts

Then die away
Amidst thin air
As if their sparks
Had not been there

It’s not about
Their short-lived sing
Nor what could make
Them come to be

But that they were
And were with passion
For notes that ring
Are notes set free


More reads on Sunday Scribblings