dpbowman

The posings of a poet.

The Thing Is


The distance between memory prophecy and deja vu
Is the same as the length of a promised tomorrow
The similarity closeness here between me and you
Is the same as the good intents with which we borrow
 
The height of our flightful trajected arc
Is the same as the spinning of the suspended sun
The depths of our passion in the dark
Is the same as the link between joy and fun
 
The purity of purpose in our possession
Is the same as the purported problem in a hurricane
The inadequacy of words to make this confession
Is the same as language barrier between parts of my brain
 
The love I bear for the heart you hold
Is the same as that first created to sing
The love I feel from that heart that continues to unfold
Is the same hope to which the drowning cling
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