I used to write poetry once

Back when I was younger and liked Kant and Zen. It wasn’t especially good, but reading over it today I was kindly suprised to find it wasn’t as bad as it could be (and poetry written by a twenty year old man with an interest in mysticism can be very bad indeed.)

Anyway, here’s one of them. I forgot what I titled it, beyond the center, beyond the margins will do I suppose.

Beyond the center, beyond the margins.

Jaw is loosely hanging

And I’m looking

To the chimney

Of a dissembled and scorched factory

And to the finger-bone spire

Of a cathedral

They each watch the other

From across an alley

I think

what if they’re a pauper and a princess

Each in love with the other?

Then I think

That’s absurd!

Then I think

Why?

Then mental voices tumble to quietness

The sky has taken on

It’s evening prominence

The sky is a bit blue

The sky is a bit black

What is the world like

Past chromatic screens

On the retina

Out past the brain, out past the eye?

What is hardness, not its feeling? What is heat and not its pain?

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About timothyscriven

I study philosophy at Sydney University. In the grand scheme, I'm not very important.
Aside | This entry was posted in Poetry (it's not very good). Bookmark the permalink.

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