Haphazard brushings by an artist
or, color blots on canvas
give abstract images of wow.
A poet rants without meaning
and the reader does not understand;
great poem it is.
Sun never rises or, sets
but the Earth does move;
we speak otherwise.
The pendulum swinging rhythmically,
clock hands moving,
it's time and progress.
Rules or, unruly,
myth or truth,
all are apparent.
Life and time
as mixture of varieties
are illusive too, may be.
Let us forget
who swings what
and just enjoy.
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Comments: 10
In fact, I think this is my favorite so far.
Helen knows what she is talking about.
I am encouraged.
Take care.