So, as I rest,
Wandering mind,
Staring from here,
Here where I sit,
Preparing for
Night’s sleep resting,
More than a bump.
I spy amongst,
Grass, brush and trees,
Web, pages and ____
A log,
Clearly seen then,
As so too now,
I remember,
With edge textured,
Very much rough,
Crevices deep,
As wrinkles of
Age and presence,
Held unknown to
Many, many,
Acts of nature,
And the masses.
Yet, while that skin,
Has borne many,
Many a rise,
Many a set,
Its condition,
Unusual —
It is most not,
A status shared,
Jagged edges,
Together with,
Some another,
A site is this,
Newly new thing,
Corse patina,
Mutually,
Not of which note
Should be taken,
But, look below.
Under that rough
Exterior,
Lying beneath,
A story tied,
A chronicle,
Or more so,
Merely simple,
It, itself a
Story of life,
And also of,
And her and his,
Beginning from,
When she, he, it,
Awoke until,
Now and to be,
As events all,
Return back by,
Again, again
Until it rests,
Until it wakes,
Such repeating,
In its glory.
originally conceived March 12, 2009
Reminder: insights and solutions to mysteries within will be posted next week. in the meantime, I would love to know your thoughts and what meaning, puzzle, riddle, hidden or otherwise you are able to glean from this piece
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