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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