"I am hearing poetry when awake, dreaming poetry when asleep, breathing poetry with each breath, I am living in a poem."

Friday, December 23, 2016

Untitled (Spoiler)

A clean sweep,
dirty tongued lies
dust panned
into a book.

Grand gets grimed
by fiction sold as truth.
He’s not half of the whole
his billfold bought.

The writer’s a ghost
The words are black
The spine will only hold
until the fiction rots.

©Susie Clevenger 2016


Kerry O'Connor said...

You express yourself so strongly in these lines, Susie. I wonder if we must reconcile ourselves to falsehood. This year has done a lot to shatter naivety.

Martin Kloess said...

"What is truth"

razzamadazzle said...

This is very powerful. Very strong wording. We really have to wonder about the truth anymore.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Wow, forceful, powerful, and right on target. I love that the spine only holds until the fiction rots.

blueoran said...

Spoiler alert: he's everything a writer fears: "dust panned " into our (history) book. This is sharp and clear without giving in to either rhyme or first reading.

howanxious said...

Truth unto itself is a conundrum. What is fiction is not necessarily false after all.
Though, it rots because that's only it can do.
There's a kind of passionate anger in your words and they ring like the last bell.

brudberg said...

Sometimes truth is hard to find, but blatant lies are easy to identify

Sanaa Rizvi said...

The writer’s a ghost
The words are black
The spine will only hold
until the fiction rots.

Beautifully haunting!!❤️

Debi Swim said...

I guess most people believe what they want to be truth rather than the truth. We are in so much trouble

kaykuala said...

The last stanza summed up the contention. There were the writings of dubious intent that one could not be sure. One just would have to accept such things in the real world.


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