Inner and outer
manifestations (of
rage and tender touch,
of ego pulled
over the head
inside-out,
of space and the
absence of matter,
of ions forgetting charges
and mass not knowing
its how and why,
leaving cracks in
the surface of
what once was,
what is,
what could be,
what could have been
before cosmic collision
exiled its possibilities
into the netherworld
of parallel options,)
become the
stuff of dreams.
The fabric of poetry.
The liquid sunrise
calling us back
to a life we
don’t understand
while painting
its ambiguous canvas
with the language
of purpose.
Inspired by “If A Sunsets Behind Buildings and No One Can See It, Is it Still Beautiful?” By Vagabond at https://writtenmad.wordpress.com
Renee Novosel
All Rights Reserved
Copyright 2015
Wallflower Whimsy 
This is so good. Most especially: “of ions forgetting charges
and mass not knowing
its how and why,”
Please join us over at yeah write!
Thank you so much, Meg! I’ll check it out! 😀
… Yeah Write looks fantastic! I’ll absolutely be submitting and joining in. Thank you so much for the invite!
“The fabric of poetry.The liquid sunrise calling us back to a life…” Beautiful lines!
Thank you kindly! 🙂
I am cosmically humbled and inspired. I also like your image – good choice for the words that followed.
Don’t give away all the secrets! That’s what they say too me sometimes.
O-Yes thanks for dropping by to have a read!
My pleasure!
Haha! The cosmic “they” … 🙂
yeah…
Reblogged this on writtenmad and commented:
I’m unsure on if I inspire or impale.
If reality had a dream, what would it be?
It would be of men growing gossamer wings, of armored knights removing helmets, revealing spilling coils of hair and almond eyes opened wider than war, seeing new beauty in a monochromatic world.
You are so consistent – never a dud poem.
Awww thank you! 😀 … So much!!