The writings of Oddpoet

The end rests
Lan­guid and del­i­cate
A sin­gle dan­de­lion seed
Estranged from the puff
Blown by rebel­lion
Or per­haps just nature’s course
To impreg­nate the ground
With more sun­shiny weeds



The end
It rests on my fer­tile mind
I cry for the clouds to unleash
A tor­ren­tial wrath
Imbed the seed to grow roots
But my mind remains arid
The wind stirs lightly
The dan­de­lion seed rests
Lan­guid and del­i­cate



Moments fused with hours
And time crashed
Against the shore of sen­tience
Vague­ness flashes
Thoughts whirl
Run away
Laugh­ing
Chal­leng­ing
The mote in God’s eye



The begin­ning…
I became…
Chaos fled
Fused Tachyons
Blazed
Scream­ing through the newly birthed light
I become many things
A par­ti­cle in the pri­mor­dial soup
A sin­gle cell
Need­ing mem­ory
To fill the void
Fus­ing
While incom­ple­tion raged
Become…Become…
The voice insis­tent
Demand­ing
Pulling pain
Out of beau­ties ori­fices



The end drained
The pla­centa of birth
Claw­ing for release
Upon the pure sands
Untouched by mankind
Fer­tile soil washed away
From neces­sity
Unnat­ural in the wail­ing cry
To be…
Accepted into the region
Unfit for any king or queen



Weeds grew
Bold and erect
Sup­ping upon the light
And dew as sweat upon the brow
Nature grew unpromised
And auda­cious in peel­ing the lids
From eyes refus­ing to see
The puff–
Blood­ied and alive–
There beyond obsti­nacy
In the face
Of time
In all its abhor­rence…



Then…
The music appeared
At first shy and unsteady
Yet insis­tent…
Demand­ing all take part
All share the essence of their being
Unique instru­ments… unique voices
In that choir all liv­ing things took their places
Like notes fused to alabaster parch­ment



The seed which was now more than a seed
More than what it ever could be
On its own moved to a strange grandeur
A feel­ing, a cer­tainty
That it was eter­nal
That its voice was needed
In that con­stel­la­tion of sound



The music would not stop
Could not stop
It held all things to its cadence

The music played…
And all life danced and swayed
To its rhythm



And it was…



Beau­ti­ful…