Fingers pointing
our wreckage bark,
Covers revealing
what should be hidden lie;
Behold this gem that could shine
through the dark
For reality's splendor outshines
the human eye.
heaving folklore,
breathing sight,
tales and mythologies
are not always blind.
Pages which we hide
today will be screamed
on every alley tomorrow.
Shadows that are still
drowning at dusk
will soon reach
its debased seabed.
But what the spectator grasps,
the spectator defines.
Passing through the mouth,
echt gem dies.
—MLD | 05012021
YOU ARE READING
Artifice
PoetryMy question marks were never caged but they always find ways to conceal their images and trick the pachydermatous spectator with artifice. Maybe, certainty can be Socrates listening to the mixtape in my closet? Maybe uncertainty can be me withou...
