Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

It seems I have given birth to a bastard child:
poetry...

I draw no conclusions make no comparisons, there is no
exit, no escape
from words that usher in the sublimity of an empty page.

I must be a magician, I must have cracked the Da Vinci code,
I am the virgin without the announcement and with no Lord
and Master, a Ronin warrior, I break open your seed with the precision
of a surgeon conducting an autopsy on herself, the pain is a useless
circumcision on a phantom appendage,

I am abandoned even before I can lose myself. Death is swift and without
histrionics, cold justice writes my epitaph in embryonic stone. You'll only
understand when poetry departs like a white-shawled ghost leading
the way across a river from which there is no return.

Read it and weep or read it and laugh. Laugh and weep. There is no use
in calculating letters.....I bite the dust like so many
roads never taken. Like wild seeds falling into fallow hills where every sunrise
foreshadows another romance novel. Like the obstetrics of calculus.

metaphysician, heal thyself ......we can only put it out there, then step back....
the meanings are diverse and ever-changing.....well written.......

Excellent- like that!