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Poetry By
  Lindsey Duncan


Published on: 5/27/2015
Title Here

I am these words:
not in the banal sense
that they describe, define, confine
me;
nor in the sordid sense
of gory ink poured on the page like wine.
I am smudged
in the literal sense
from hand dragged across curve and line,
writing myself
beneath the sinister notice
of a frustrated student of literary analysis;
animated by inattention,
breathing until furious fingers
crush the page and
erase all signs of—


Published on: 1/27/2011
A Thousand Strips of Parchment

Upon a thousand strips of parchment, I write
Visions seen on eyelids' slate. I do not strive
To craft their future by fading candlelight.

To seven winds I set these omens in flight,
Foresight scattered from rocky heights; as long as I survive,
Upon a thousand strips of parchment I write.

Those prophecies that reach the seeking in their plight
Are theirs to heed or conquer; I do not contrive
To craft their future by fading candlelight.

Yet destiny becomes a wire winding tight
As desperate souls flee the truths that thrive
Upon a thousand strips of parchment. I write

And wonder: what if they did not know to fight?
Could they sidestep fate and keep their hope alive,
To craft their future by fading candlelight?

A prediction known, I fear, has all the might
Of destiny itself; yet as long as I survive,
Upon a thousand strips of parchment, I write
To craft their future by fading candlelight.

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