the unwounded self, at the heart, is still
in response to circumstance we turn
between the worlds we move as one
chased along by thrusting time
only surface changes
perhaps forever
as i will be
as i was
i am
now
gone
and dead
if you are
in cold despair
i am alone here
we turn it round in faith
life runs like a salt hour glass
hours and days pass us by with speed
which world is real is a mystery
there is an open door between two worlds
there is an open door between two worlds
which world is real is a mystery
hours and days pass us by with speed
life runs like a salt hour glass
we turn it round in faith
i am alone here
in cold despair
if you are
dead and
gone
now
i am
as i was
as i will be
perhaps forever
only surface changes
chased along by thrusting time
between the worlds we move as one
in response to circumstance we turn
the unwounded self, at the heart, is still
I LOVE what you did with the form, looking at it, it feels impossible to me, hence why I admire your way of words even more. What struck me most with this poem of yours, besides the soulful transcripts of our mortal components, was the salt in the hourglass. That image alone etched itself into my head and is making me think many things and analogies.
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salt both wounds and heals
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And the poem itself is shaped like an hourglass! Wonderful poetry.
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the other side of the hour glass is in the other world
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