Friday, November 25, 2011

The Pen and the Oak

The voice of reason
A dying perception
Concepts of drawing faces,
Converging horizons

As with your pen
Vertices established
Antiquities relished
Ancient philosophy embellished

Where were those
Simple words of reason?
Shedding their leaves
In the changing season?

By an old oak tree
My pen was lost
I couldn't find it
No matter how many leaves I tossed

Reasons for present being
Escaped my mind
As I searched for something
I couldn't find

Comatose autumn oak
Swallowed my instrument of thought
Now with emptiness
All reason comes to naught

Gone is my pen
Horizons, vertices disappear
Emerging philosophical fear
Reason lost to these roots right here.

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