The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible. ~Vladimir Nabakov

Monday, January 17, 2011

The Paradox

Chained onto the mystery
Unravelling its links
For the dead end road
While foundation sinks

Who told my heart to beat
And once again I ask
Dreaming in the alchemy
Upending is this task

Pursued in rebel with lust
Bound by the agencies
Who commend in deceit
On vast inconsistencies

In forbidden sweetness
Long are we beaten
Awaiting but our destiny
Still sour crop is eaten

Dark water is swallowed
By a sheltered bold fox
In life he wallowed
To believe the paradox

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