Sunday, October 13, 2013

The Curve of Sleepy Circles



Sleepy circles.
Planets
wobble on the edge.
Shards of light trumps the void.

Drunkards born
into this cosmos,
where prophets whisper into thunder,
and are dismissed.

The world mends the breach with the compassion 
of unwavering truth. 
Each breath born,
to bind us to the last.






The words from the Sunday Whirl- edge, trumps, drunkard, world, mends, bind prophet, born, expected, circles, sleepy, thunder

13 comments:

  1. Very pretty poem, Teri. Happy Sunday to you.

    Pamela

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    1. Thank you Pamela. I was thankful to have a less somber piece this week.

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  2. Beautiful poem. My favorite line is shards of light trumps the void.

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    1. Thanks Sabra. It was the last line written in an effort to use the word trumps. I never did manage the word expected.

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  3. Replies
    1. Thank you Daphne. These wordles always surprize me.

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  4. It is fun when the words take you to places that you might not normally go.
    Cheers and hugs, Jules

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  5. The world mends the breach with the compassion
    of unwavering truth. ~ beautiful line!

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  6. Are drunkards born, I wonder, or made? Maybe it doesn't matter...

    My Sunday Whirl

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  7. I love the last two line, Teri. Beautiful piece.

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  8. 'as if of hemlock I had drunk' -a pleasure to read your work as always

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  9. 'as if of hemlock I had drunk'...reminded of Keats. A pleasure to read your work.

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Comments are welcome and appreciated, thanks so much for stopping by.