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Post by Ivan Carswell on Mar 12, 2008 0:17:53 GMT -5
So I’m a monk – the kind who doesn’t intervene unless a life is poised.
No, it isn’t true; your life is fine, you’re only playing games – you’d like to see me mantled in a gray prospectus.
I’m not that old although I’ve seen a season here and there. And where you live is barely real enough to seem a trite pretence.
Okay, the sham for sure is me, while where you are is anybody’s guess. I’d say you never left the page to turn a chary word – although the fantasy is fairly real.
Today is but the end of what was said while yesterday held sway.
The role you lead will play an eerie consequence. Where is the end? Will tomorrow bring us any relevance? © 28 February 2008, I. D. Carswell
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Post by Dunstan Attard on Mar 15, 2008 14:10:53 GMT -5
I’d say you never left the page to turn a chary word
loved these lines within the whole context of this poem
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Post by Shell on Mar 16, 2008 14:24:05 GMT -5
*ouch* and well written ... loved the opening couplet .. that's so me *grin ... and then the barrage of contrast ...
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Post by Ivan Carswell on Mar 16, 2008 20:44:08 GMT -5
Thank you both kindly. I guess we're all monkish - the trick, and I've never learned it, is to gauge when the threat is real. I spend too much time rationalising - hence the lines...
Today is but the end of what was said while yesterday held sway
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