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March 30, 2013


I dreamt of the carnival again.
Spread forth across all the span of the Earth.
The men rolled dice made of bone.
Talked of God’s law, nations destroyed.
The women danced bare breasted
Children played with small toys.
Tigers slept in cages wide open.
I stood there alone, sore afraid.
How everything was permitted.
How familiar it seemed.
It’d been a place that I’d dreamt of before.
But I’d never felt so at home.

And here strides the circus master.
His drunken top hat tipped to hide.
The terror in his sunken eyes.
And though disaster lies.
Just beyond one thrown punch.
Or misguided slip of the tongue.
His whip is never by his side.

Standing there I surveyed all the forgotten of Time.
Like a ghost on the landing, unbetrayed by sound or sight.
And none of them spoke, for there was no longer meaning in words.
Stronger alone, their faces portrayed no hunger for life.
Amongst them I yearned, to be held, to be sought.
Things I’d brought with with me from the other side.
But as I wandered, a beautiful truth overcame a long lived lie.
Though I try to persist, I was one of these people, born to die.
And I woke with a smile on my lips.
A liberating dictum.
Love, simply, does not exist.


From → Poetry

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