Reflecting on August 2013, and after

[Jane Berg]

Perfection is,
A hollow orb
A glowing ball.
Concave,
in its immaculate deception.
The meeting place,
between want and grasp,
a laugh beyond the grave.

And to die then.
Well, to die then.
Is to have a way
to stop most causing
to hide the place
Of a lost calling.
And the way
through the woods,
is only out.

Bliss is:
An impossible orb.
A double sphere.
What gives out -
- takes in -
impossible to break the skin.
To live without
and within,
rounding, rounding, to the core

And the vacant air -
is too, a sign to tell

A bitter glass

Is it possible that all grapes burst the same?
A bitter sip is this.
The Grape of Nature,
has a taste, unpalatable,
and summer wine cannot be drunk before the solstice passes.
And the way through the woods,
is the only out.

Happiness is:
A dual life.
A dual mind.
A concave,
untouchable  core,
between the tenses.
And to die then,
Well?

Is to have been:
Lilly white, on a plain of sand,
Lilly white, on a long high land
Impossible,
Unthinkable:

ignorant of bliss

The way through
the burst joy
the dual orb
the vacant stair
The Impossible
The Incomprehensible

And,

on a day, any day, reading a little, and dosing a little
and the sun on the sill
happiness is,
almost,
this.




Ref.
Othello
Kipling
Yeats
Keats, "On Melancholly"
Virginia Woolf, "Mrs Dalloway"

[Jane Berg]

Looking for crit because I think I may have obscured the meaning a bit, also concerned about flow and coherence - although I was not really trying to be lyrical. Also I know the references are pretentious, but I don't want to be called a copycat.

[Tom]

Thanks Jane,
I missed this before -
Will read it again ...

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