NickvonBismarck's profile

when we were young we sang to the birds unutterable, fruitful proverbs. we sang proverbs to the birds. and as we sang we fancied the sight of colorful plumes of a divine majesty we savoured the song symphonic, harmonic melodic, euphonic. but when night fell and we slept and we dreamt of our soaring roaring song for the birds-- manifest snakes in the dark took our birds prey. their voices nor their garb were sufficient protection from strangulation or damnation. perhaps our fancy was farce. or...

Let me sleep soundly in the salty silence of your words. You have whispered each night into timeless subsistence. I weather the storm on the boat of your poetry to strive, to seek, to find, and to yield the morning again.

we're homonyms for the same unutterable word. it's a deity from within you, within me. with the ubiquity of math a metaphorical path burns in our eternity.

Hermann Hesse once wrote, “Words do not express thoughts very well. They always become a little different immediately after they are expressed, a little distorted, a little foolish.” In this respect, no emotion is truly communicable, no thought truly understood. For we cannot translate true anger into words; nor can words, as the old adage goes, express how much one loves another. But from this belief springs the very idea of poetry. A visceral, pure form of communication, unhindered by the b...

I have searched far and wide for the pearls in his hand. I have traded, haggled, bartered for a chance to snag my hard-earned reward. I see them shimmer and I see them glisten. Their false light mocks goodness and instead garners indolence. I may be a greedy merchant, and truly I have made corrupt bargains. But penance was paid, assuredly, and I have seen you, held you, pearls, in my dreams. And I awaken to see a great pearl deriding my endeavour in the onyx sky. You, Pearls, I am revulsed. Y...