Going Cosmic

In my turn, the time, that has no hold on me–

Perhaps I should hang out in a nice recycled clear glass bottle; beside a tree; close to a little brook with riffles; that has a long view of a verdant valley.

My inkwell is clear so I could mingle with ink; be part of a love poem; a last will and testament; official nuptial document; or child’s first practice with a pen.

I see the image shared that at once; I shall never see yet remember then when coldness shall come; aware I am transformed cosmic though I do not recollect a womb-life; as yet I cannot conceive life ongoing then that very thought aspiring is the root of all hope and exploring.

–so go I direction and destination unknown my hand upon the rudder.

c. Lemuel

03 June 2018

Thank you “poetryfromtheinkwell”

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