I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
A bone to pick have I, a skeleton: Bones do not get the respect they deserve Could any of you survive without us? Do you yearn to be an amorphous lump?
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
Abandoned by God and The Devil, both Between is my scene; the earth, my dwelling Carrying coal in turnip or pumpkin Deranged grins are carved on my vessels bright
Five hundred published But the numbers mean nothing Without you, reader!
Blood contains echoes They make the loud map you know How do our lives sound?
Advancing through the dark, the Dullahan Brings with him an augury of grim death Cautious as we may be to avoid him Doomed is the one whose name this rider speaks
I understand your fear, but be at ease Enumerate the things you will let go: Death erases all bodily disease From bone and flesh comes a bright imago
Amazon jungles are lush and fragrant Black is the lagoon therein where I dwell Curious humans disrupted my life there Eager to trace ancient bones to their source
The promise of escape throbs through our hearts I am grateful for your enormous strength Some will call me a coward as we dart
Borders and papers Are as meaningless to us As having to walk
After the quaint, somber rituals end Beautiful silence returns for a while Contemplating all that I have witnessed Distracts me from the trivial present
Why so aloof, love? You shine on the horizon Far from my small life
Are you surprised by my strange appearance? Born yesterday, were you? You must have been! Crops have been cultivated by your kind
