Like cells with stored memory, and traits, and lost truths, we knock against each day and react for reasons that are unseen by others.trust hurt help is the cry.trust hurt help is the reason why.Wonderful!
Thank you sweet QN! I was afraid this poem might be a bit too cryptic. You are exceptional of course, but I can see you have easily penetrated into elements which open this structure up. Thank you for you wonderful comments and deep insights.
i kept thinking. searching for self, i have asked myself such questions.keep it up, my friend.
Thanks gautami tripathy! The questions go on but the answers come slowly. Greatfully poetry helps.
russell, if i were not at work reading this i think i might have shed a few tears. i may be too fragile when it comes to poetry, espeically something that speaks so directly and wholly to the heart of the reader. thank you for the comment on "tired" by the way. sorry to break your heart dear. you're so very sweet. i'm alright though. just worried about my friend ashraf and his beautiful family, as you already know.hugs
Yes I know, Katy. We're all concerned for Ash. We poor oversensitive poets who shed tears when words touch us, have to stick together. No one else will take care of us.Thanks for all the wonderful comments, dear.Lots of hugs to you too
You ask a good question!I read that if you took all the space out from between atoms and electrons and so forth, you could squeeze all the matter that this earth is actually made from into something the size of a tennis ball.All else is illusion !CheersGlenn
Glenn, how is it that so much empty space can be so busy with being the place where we stand? What is it that makes emptiness into something else? Thanks for the great comments!
We all paint are own illusions of inspiration, it's as it should be interpritation is nine tenths of all creativity
The question of the tension and dynamics of the interplay between colors in the space between them seems to carry metaphorical implications of some real interest.
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