For that is only what we seek.

WHAT THEY SOUGHT WAS WITH PASSION FRAUGHT! EXCELLENT STUFF! <

Pseudopsychosis.

The roads, the valleys, the ripened dreams in solidarity,
To a handful weaved of a ghost aubade in speech
Evoking contingent flames unmourned, and embraced
As the shaken birth from the morning, I starve the feathered dreams,
As I no longer follow through with the nightlong autumn near the glass,
I hope we don’t forget each other, and that we will remember
The wind that passes through the roots, and the river rocks that sought for better dirt,
Along with the threshold alone across the fields,
Underneath the burning sun, marring in the dark
Like a half-dead trout out of the water
In between hours of indecency and midnight
Shuddering in asymmetrical silence in a dim sneak of the unseen,
Consumed into withered plum leaves; a perspective forward,
In a linen of light sliding onto the rock’s surface,
The sunlight against the striking of a door,
And we have left…

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About Jonathan Caswell

Mr. Caswell has been composing poetry at least since High School. He has been on WORD PRESS for ten years and contributes to two other blogs beside this one. This blog has a Christian emphasis but all bloggers are welcome. Mr. Caswell chooses to---with permission--re[post material of interest

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