The Fool

interloper's picture

Blinding, trying to read 
Between lines, it's just space unconsigned.
Minding, dying to need.

Where is the end and beginning
Between the eye and the mind?
Reading words you can't find.

Thinking, ready to bleed.
Full mind, empty space unenshrined,
Proceed, it can only be freed.

Where's the beginning and ending
Of what has been lost and defined?
Freeing, planting a seed?

Minding, dying to need.

Comments

alesnick's picture

I like

the music -- sound and beat -- of this poem.

interloper's picture

music

Thank you. I think most of my exposure to poetic form has been in the form of lyrics to music. I am new to writing poetry and really haven't read much poetry at all, but music has been central to my life ever since I incessantly listened to my mother's Beatles records when I was a little kid. I have always appreciated the way some musical artists string words together. I may try to create a song out of one of my poems down the road.

interloper's picture

An additional thought about

An additional thought about music and poetry:

Sometimes when I set out to write something I find myself constrained by my tendancy to try conform to a set meter and rhyme (like a song) and I have to force myself to break out of this. Sometimes I do want to stay within these confines.

I have felt that my most creative moments occur when I get away from these limits.

Elisabeth's picture

Awesome

I stumbled upon this poem and really enjoyed it - Thanks

interloper's picture

Thank you.

Thank you Elisabeth. 

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