W a v e s
The [a] patient patiently picks the lock inside a fevered spirit dreamLight and Dark rolls in waves as a clock suspended hangs above [the tide]
Gathers force, destroys form and remakes [again]
Every spoken image intermingles is interwoven [into]
The paths are threads of Night that write the words someone has chosen
And or is chosen for a frame of Light the lines composed of numbered texts
Combine to take the form of face and [self]Question, stated
Beliefs consume what energies assume as being so
Imperceptibly maneuvered into place and time
To go so soon [dismissed]
The bright why turned rain and gray
Life and lines something [saves]
Light and Dark
Rolls [in]
W a v e s . . .
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers

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Written on 2025-08-02 at 15:59




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