an offering

By Phalanx

When I think about other worlds
IĀ imagine anything but this.
When time stops and begins to crawl
To the strange hum of an unknown clock
It speaks that it prefers to stumble
For time is only relevant
By a worthy occupant.
Tell me we're not lost and
I'll tell you we're not alone.
Something in the sound of this nonsense
Sends a message up my spine for me
To search the wreckage.
After all spare parts make the machine,
A collection of memories and old phototgraphs
I couldn't burn because I would self destruct.
These things that are a part of you,
Moments grafted in place of
A birthday suit dissolved.
I am not the man I was.
Could you love me none the less?
There's no such thing as a casual inquery or
Gentle question.
We are all looking for something we can't talk about.
I've been quartered before and
I am no longer afraid to suffer.
It's what I know.
Suppose I burned for a moment
To light up the night sky
Spreading the ashes of all my sins,
Would you fly to give back your dust?

Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited. Ask the author first.
Copyright 2013 Phalanx
Published on Sunday, May 12, 2013.     Filed under: "Poetry"
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Comments on "an offering"

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  • A former member wrote: Our pasts are what makes us, without them we are simply hollow shells, for better or worse the best part of memories is that they belong to you.

  • A former member wrote: "For time is only relevant by a worthy occupant." A very reflective batch of words you've composed here. Nicely penned.


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