Scorching cries, skin flows.
Shy, fairness never arrives.
Stuff broken red teeth,
beg for nothing, statues blue,
not trophies, but love towers.
Grappling with tattered
fame, losing murky powers.
Growing ego soothes,
removing struggle and grays.
Free fall, same right, left, no push.
.
Idealism, Love, Poems, Poetry, Purpose, Seeking God, Spirituality, Tanka, The I Ching
This entry was posted on June 4, 2012, 9:40 pm and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through RSS 2.0. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
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#1 by Carl D'Agostino on June 4, 2012 - 10:40 pm
“…fairness never arrives.” Makes use cynics, fatalists and existentialists. Or simply feeling cheated and disgusted. Expectling a little fairness is not entitlement just the way it oughtta be.
#2 by Carl on June 8, 2012 - 9:34 pm
I’m better at life when I expect none!
#3 by joanna on June 6, 2012 - 9:07 pm
i don’t pretend to understand all your images here, but i feel resonance with this somehow this evening. thank you.
#4 by Carl on June 8, 2012 - 9:38 pm
I’m lucky to have your comment, Joanna. Lucky for your visit and if it sings a tiny bit, that is good for me. I was trying to constrict myself to that Tanka form and it makes me feel nonsensible!