Were we split or shaken by qualms and quarrels,
Quaked from boughs in bushels no longer cherished;
Were we rocked from resting upon our laurels,
      Laureates perished,

Sense would part from substance, go unattended,
Try to sense itself, but not sensing ever;
Substance lacking sense would be left unmended,
      Parted forever:

Blue apart from sky, for the air was looted;
Red not rock nor flame nor a beating bloodline;
Grassless green, the sod and the seed uprooted;
      Light without sunshine;

Heat without the sun's heavy tide of summer;
Sweet without a tongue nor a licking lapping;
Beat without the blow of the drum, nor drummer
      Steadily clapping.

Could you bear to tear our ownselves asunder?
Rather, let us bend at the laurel lightly,
Quiver little to strain not the bough whereunder
      Fasten us tightly.

Did you write that?
Its beautiful.
» lyndeep on 2007-09-21 09:11:19

Of course
It is difficult to comprehend what one is reading while listening to U2's "Sunday Bloody Sunday" at the same time. Their song entitled "Bad" is much easier to ignore, as I discovered when it came on next and thus was actually able to read your prose without getting [too] distracted.

All because I didn't want to put forth the effort to click the "pause" button. And then I wrote this silly comment about it.


I liked your poem. (Or should it be called something else? I'm not familiar with all the names of the different forms of writing.)
» invisible on 2007-09-21 02:29:54

I figured it wasn't "prose", but it seemed to fit the sentence I was writing. It fit the phrase, but not the subject.

But anyways.
» invisible on 2007-09-22 01:35:51

I am what?
» lyndeep on 2007-09-22 08:54:40

Lol now I do! Thanks!
» lyndeep on 2007-09-23 10:36:18

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