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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Emotional · #1059142
9 short muses linked to each other. The day, death, love ...

Facing the day


The Day tugs at the Sun, urging one moment more than its yester-twin. It has won. The bright Spark responds to its call.


We all live before we die. Even the cat with one eye lapped at the milk of kindness. With no nose, it did not smell the end coming.


Why know the end? It doesn't end if it never begins. Why worry about beginnings. Enough to have held you in my arms. I still wait.


Belatedly I apologize for having cried at birth. I should've seen the future and choked instead. What momentary pain felt once, would have saved a lifetime of hurt.


I blurt my anger. It flowers like skunk cabbage in the early Spring. No one regrets its passing. My passion rots before your tulips bloom.


Two lips meet where the passion ends in a stream of spit. What mucous expended to lubricate the lust! I stoke internal flame to blaze, to bring forth flowers.


The day tugs at the bloom of night; the sky overextends itself with heat. All seek to sleep or awaken to the fullmoon's light this thirteenth day of flight across a January landscape.


The land does not warm. Too sage and weary to be fooled by brightness in the south, it waits for the passion rising on the otherside of the solstice, the tilt towards light.


Your head leans towards one shoulder then the other. Back and forth like seasons of Winter and Summer, it passes through the life of Spring, the death of Autumn, pauses for a moment to face the day.

Kåre Enga

catalogue number: [162.707a-i]
13 januar 2006
© Copyright 2006 Kåre Enga — taking a break. (enga at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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