Ding-a-Ling

I moulder here in mute repose, attuned to words themselves,
Apart from what they had been meant to mean. Let's face it;
Meaning's overrated. Nowhere in the universe can one see
Any sign of purpose. Maybe there's a god out there, but, at
Best, it's elusive. At worst, it's a cop created in a palace by
A monarch bent on keeping peasants tending crops their
Betters get to sell. I turn from meaning, from the cardinal
Associations of these playthings I put into poems, to their
Tones, their sounds alone. I hear a ringing in the cosmos.
Don't search for a point to it. It's music made of useless
Words. That's all I can provide.





Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2025-10-16 at 03:20

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Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
Interesting. I have always wanted to create poetry that was like music. Music seems to be able to get to the heart of you sometimes, but then so can words. The human condition is mainly shared by communication one way or another. This God thing is far more subtle, I think. Imagine an energy as all knowing as a 'God', it would surely know how to manifest in every possible way. Maybe that is what made the proposition that 'God' is all seeing. Blessings, Allen
2025-10-16



if you can get closer to God, it reveals at least that there is a space in-between you and Him, otherwise you would be in his domain
2025-10-16