two feet without the ground and their footprints in the air,
to feel the fear around and to feed hope to despair,
sins we've all committed involve our hubris and our grit,
since all of our resolve is often termed as all our shit
to break the chain of our morose we're hung with hope alive
allay this madness with our prose and poems is what we strive
but madness travels with our words and ideas are it's crew
you've read this crazy bastard's poem and now you're crazy too!
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- suraj sharma
- my mind, therefore, becomes this outstretched field of immeasurable serenity, which, although illuminated at angles awkward and unfamiliar to my eyes - is neither dark nor twilit. The strange lighting turns the vacuous foreplay of shadows chasing shadows into an euphoric, almost utopian feeling which is held in suspension as long as this configuration of appearances beckons the restlessness of reason ever forward into the uncharted hinterlands of imagination while at the same time compelling me to bless the lighting director.
1 comments:
Interesting...
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