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the madness of being

When the wild geese fly
across your eyes
and the Bedouin tethers
his camels to the stars

and what remains of tenderness
is heard in every seashell
of our madness,
ours will have been a time that came to be
and a day that had come to pass.

There are lonely hunters everywhere,
they hunt for arrows and they hunt for bows,
they hunt with weapons
for their soul.

Then, perhaps,
all is not lost in the art of amazement,
in the ridicule
of parting lips, in the money pit where the pendulum
swings

the river rocks
grey and black and white with clouds,
have something more to say.

I cannot say to whom it all belongs
but for this longing.

Editing stage: 

Comments

As always, words that move & inspire. Open doors & free both hope & disapointment into the winds of clearer consideration. You have such a way of providing perspective without effort. I sip your art with pleasure. Anni

Cheers
Anni

My dear friend always told me "Water the seeds of joy first"

Thank you Anni, how are you and yours? It is a pleasure to know you are here.

~A

author comment

i think this may be one of my favorites. simply beautiful. nothing more to say!
always,
mag

of parting lips, in the money pit......

where the pendulum......
.SWINGSSSSSSSSS

I never see u call by now a days
fed up may be
of my silly comments
perhaps
but I still love to read thee
and see parting lips in imagination
as i scan your poetry
ma'am you are a wonderful poet
indeed....

loved

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