(why)

chadwickchadwick Posts: 21,157
edited November 2011 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
this is what is asked. so it is. answering anything takes longer than asking, thinking up any sort of question, any inquiry that has been dreaming its own self up for decades or centuries. lightning pens out ingredients the earth will produce from scratch and in bursts. this is raw, bone and flesh. seed and soil. feathers green, blue with opened freedoms. how could we be the ones?

rocks gather themselves at river's edge. this (entire spectrum) breathing is done out of sink, as is exhailing done equivalently in such a manner that we all, each of us with every single cell, human or beast, insect or old farm pond algae blooms.

the grand center beats as one in all points of living
for poetry through the ceiling. ISBN: 1 4241 8840 7

"Hear me, my chiefs!
I am tired; my heart is
sick and sad. From where
the sun stands I will fight
no more forever."

Chief Joseph - Nez Perce
Post edited by Unknown User on

Comments

  • rollingsrollings Posts: 7,124
    chadwick wrote:
    this is what is asked. so it is. answering anything takes longer than asking, thinking up any sort of question, any inquiry that has been dreaming its own self up for decades or centuries. lightning pens out ingredients the earth will produce from scratch and in bursts. this is raw, bone and flesh. seed and soil. feathers green, blue with opened freedoms. how could we be the ones?

    rocks gather themselves at river's edge. this (entire spectrum) breathing is done out of sink, as is exhailing done equivalently in such a manner that we all, each of us with every single cell, human or beast, insect or old farm pond algae blooms.

    the grand center beats as one in all points of living

    so THAT'S (why).....
  • thank you for your prosery
    a bead amongst my rosary
    thank you, thank you, thank, you
  • chadwickchadwick Posts: 21,157
    thank you for your prosery
    a bead amongst my rosary
    thank you, thank you, thank, you
    and thank you
    for poetry through the ceiling. ISBN: 1 4241 8840 7

    "Hear me, my chiefs!
    I am tired; my heart is
    sick and sad. From where
    the sun stands I will fight
    no more forever."

    Chief Joseph - Nez Perce
  • tremorstremors Posts: 8,051
    I like it
    Cancel my subscription to the Ressurection
    Send my credentials to the house of detention

    lettherecordsplay1x.gif?t=1377796878
  • brianluxbrianlux Posts: 42,038
    I once asked, "Why" and at long last, Chadwick come though with the answer in the only logical media suited to the question, poetry, and a good answer it is. :thumbup:

    Now if you were to go on from there would you ask "Which?", "What?", "Where","When", or "Whom?"
    “The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man [or woman] who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.”
    Variously credited to Mark Twain or Edward Abbey.













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