Wrote this one down by the sea,
while my love
was throwing
her first pottery.
The carry of
creative resonance
is real…
By the way,
This isn’t the poem
This is.:
Born Made
I hear the mixed,
the off-tone.
The reversed out cymbal
parking itself across two spaces.
Encroaching the soundscape
I hear the cringe,
it fills the missing
The part note
The almost.
Far beyond Flumes
of Broken sounds
light up autonomous skies
Electric.
I hear the crave,
The rave
The cave
‘THE’ CAVE.
The Lost beats
will never need
to find their way.
They were art
are art
yet forever be
art
unLit Sparks
live on and on
well beyond
The grade.
Landing simply,
within a symphony,
Born Made.
This poem seems to have made it’s way into the song below.
Or perhaps vice versa.
See if you can hear it?
You could even read it over again with ‘Lady’ playing in the foreground.
Then scroll down for a guide on how the Universe unfolds…
I’m aware.
I’m very demanding today.
