This written word Burned in ink forever like time-- This written word. It remains unspoken, unheard. All of life, but silently chimes In the rhythm of soundless, bold rhymes. This written word. postscript DFC day 27. It appears I am writing all the odd ones first. I shall go back
August brought coolness, deadly Even for gentle hearts. I judiciously kissed life-- More, noiseless, old-- pah! Quickened, resting, stirring, thou undulating vestiges of winter. Vexatious is your zest. postscript DFC day 25. I told you I wouldn't upload them in order. The abecedarian requires the use of each
They say a space in cluttered mess Suggests a sign of genius mind And hurricanes of stark excess Surround the thoughtful, guileless kind. The handwriting of quickest wits Is ugly, swift, and lacking bits Of letters, punctuation, ink-- For we write faster than we think. postscript DFC day 23. I
Go and see the hope Given to the poor ones-- Gentiles-- sweeping the ocean floors, Grasping at alms while they may. Grieve for the poor in joy, but Gaze on the horizon; God hears. postscript DFC day 22. Technically I am caught up, despite that it's after midnight
In purple dressed and crowned with light The people marvel. At the sight Of you in splendor we delight; This is your right, this is your right. To grow so old and die in bed In peace with grey upon your head; This is the life you should have led--