Isnt Itself

by Matthew Sharp

its misplaced anger sporadic
no mind like a childs reflexes
disillusion ripples in the reflection
prism the spectrum its spot glares
radiation calloused causeway
in the space no time can combine with
a divine script of onliness
fingers twist shadows on the wall that cant be see through
a spoke awoke to the instability created in surrendering its dizziness
to a place where stillness sings.
The is itself.


Author's Note:

Posted on 12/17/2011
Copyright © 2021 Matthew Sharp

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