Archive 01/27/09 - (3)

   

Exquisite Gift

                                                                         

Creativity,

Having no other form of subjective consciousness

To rival its exquisite gift,

Is, in my exceedingly poetic estimation,

The beginning, Eden, Mount Helicon, heaven, eternity.

 

Can you begin to conceive being,

Without fundamental instincts and emotions

Capable of eliciting songs, longings for love,

Without an imagination that can dream, soar,

Without a tongue born to elaborate vocabularies?

 

I can't, not even in my emptiest meditations.

All I know, with absolute conviction,

Is that, predestined to die of a predictable malady

Or fate yet inexplicable to nature, I exist.

Alive inside my artistic sensibility, I am forever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

01/27/09 - (3)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 
   
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