Poeter.se logo icon
Redan medlem?   Logga in

2 april 2019

A being within a being

Two lives dance as one,
but only one poor Noah
dare hope survive.
The race in the womb of time;

A being
within a being,
within a being.

Hooked to its host it preys.
Selfishly it grows,
being reborn astray the grave,
as a corpse of time.

The bond between mother and mother
leaves a scar in the centre of being.
The scar of imaginary separateness.
First mother's oxygen, now
Mother Nature's.

But for time being the blind suckle the
self-reflected oxygen,
filling its lungs for the first time.
From one host to the next.

A being,
part of a being,
within a being.

It ever expands in bursts of laughter and cries,
demanding outmost attention to thrive.

In the cycles of
sorrow and joy,
it sort of enjoys
its morrow, and toys with life.
It plays life, it acts no act.
Blind to the script,
deaf to its director.

It simply smiles and frowns,
as time pokes it in the eyes,
it learns its act,
to act its part
of a well-oiled machinery
breaking apart.

A part,
within a part,
within a part.

To be replaced if ever a mite of rust captures
the attention of the Devil's eye.

It grinds itself to pieces,
though pieces thou aren't.
It picks them up,
it grinds it ever more, to dust
for dust thou art.
It gathers the dust once again.

A piece,
within a piece,
within a piece.

Unsure of anything it drops the dust
and awaits, it drops itself.

Godot points at the willow.
It picks the fruit.
It licks and swallows.
It climbs in under its own eyelid
in a fasting womb,
conquering true sight, seeing;

A God
within a God,
within a God.

Apart no more,
but part all the more,
different forms flowing.
Water inside a river,
spears inside a field,
seeing what cannot be seen,
being what cannot be been.

A form
within a form,
within a form.

Fri vers av Pontus Sundquist
Läst 20 gånger
Publicerad 2021-04-21 23:23

Bookmark and Share

  Lustverket VIP
Gillar! Mystiken, mångtydigheten, den återkommande tematiken. Bra gjort!
  > Nästa text
< Föregående

Pontus Sundquist