The Sickness
I am the grass...
Poetry, for all of its beauty and meaning to us, does not always spring from the most beautiful sources. And words are not the reality...
The Sickness
When the weight of the snow
Is taken by the sun
The grass springs skyward
With the simple force of life
I am the grass
When the weight of myself
Is melted away
By the truth of the moment.
But I catch myself
Always catch myself
Become myself once more
To write such words as these.
Dull reflections of life
Of experience beyond language
Of joy which is killed
Always killed when spoken.
And Iv'e caught myself again
A contagion spread by words
And poetry appears like fever
A symptom of disease.
Steve Gillman has been playing with poetry for thirty years. He and his wife Ana created the game "Deal-A-Poem," which can be accessed for free at: http://www.dealapoem.com
The Sickness
When the weight of the snow
Is taken by the sun
The grass springs skyward
With the simple force of life
I am the grass
When the weight of myself
Is melted away
By the truth of the moment.
But I catch myself
Always catch myself
Become myself once more
To write such words as these.
Dull reflections of life
Of experience beyond language
Of joy which is killed
Always killed when spoken.
And Iv'e caught myself again
A contagion spread by words
And poetry appears like fever
A symptom of disease.
Steve Gillman has been playing with poetry for thirty years. He and his wife Ana created the game "Deal-A-Poem," which can be accessed for free at: http://www.dealapoem.com
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