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Edges (Free verse) by Blue Magpie
I have loved the edges of things.
There the overlapping patterns
make the formed crack and bleed
moments of pregnant opportunity
back into reality,
seeding it with new possibility.
The edges of days have blessed my sight,
moments when the dark and the light
perform their ancient changing of the guard.
In the crashing of their power
I have touched a flower, a shard
of burning colour, hurled
to me from high above the world.
I know the edges of the land,
the sea,
a warm and fetid swamp
where rainbows used to stand,
and replicators came to romp.
Where life at last began to be
and death was born,
while pain and love
were only shadows in the dawn.
I have gone along the edge of field and forest
where sunlight sprinkled green
haunts the little spaces in between,
and diversity sees fit to manifest
itself in more abundant ways
than either parent knew in better days.
I have lived on the edges of society
where piety, and hungers,
still to learn their lies,
to earn their lives,
go hunting through the lost
and sleeping souls
of those who have no goals,
and pay each day anew the cost,
for this and senseless dreams.
I have worried at the edges of consciousness,
pushed back the boundaries of my mind
to see what I could find.
And I have drunk the waters of distress
for I confess, to seeing truths,
which having lived too long
forget the light they once called home
and in their way of growing strong
become enslaved to might
and lose themselves in all they seek to own.
Some friends might say
that I have wandered far too long
upon the edges of insanity
where dreaming forces play
and those who live in fantasy
believe that they can be
some future truth
if only
they could make themselves perceive.
But I have touched the edges of the wise
and seen the beauty of their lives,
and I have flown, on other worlds,
and known, in other words,
the reasons for it all.
These edges of perception,
these times when mere things
all focus into one
whichever way you look.
The sub to subatomic I mistook
for the entire universe, and shook
with laughter as I learned to see, with angels,
who were dancing there with me,
how it is these edges set me free.
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Arithmetic Mean: 7.2222223
Weighted score: 6.111111
Overall Rank: 1107
Posted: September 5, 2004 9:57 AM PDT; Last modified: September 5, 2004 9:57 AM PDT
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sliver
Comments:
232 view(s)
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Thank you for your kind words. However the criticism is a bit vague, could you possibly tell me exactly where you think I have sacrificed meaning for prose. The same goes for the comment on follow-through for rhythm, but I also have difficulty knowing what you mean by follow-through, previous to this I have only heard the term used in sports training, tennis etc.
The meaning-prose trade-off is difficult. If we are too vague in image and metaphor, meaning is lost to readers who donât get it; if too direct, we are accused of simplistic babble. This poem is close to a good balance, but too far to the prose side for my preference.
Itâs a good poem.