4-22-18, Olan Smith (amended 4-1-23)
Worlds without closure―who claims the eternals?
Hope dwindles within an unsure reality of fictions
Endeared to us our false attitudes prevalent
Nuptials, bonds and twists of realities, the unknowable
Towers of snarled webs we construct of fiction.
Hours of narratives told as truth...what-is-what,
Even the creators know not. Hope is false
Brother and sister in a bizarre world of opposites
Out of truth events become juxtaposed. Droll,
Until this moment the reader did not realize the
Greatest narrative is the self, unfinished. Perhaps,
Humans are stories, the sagas of devout scribes
Born of other dimensions, but always with you; they
Read you and make you tangible. You are their Words!
Even now you are spoken, but do not look too deeply,
Answers are beneath the cyphers. Understand?
Keep your mitts off the script. Don't alter what's carved in
Stone, and accept the authenticity you observe.
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Poems from the Quill, by Olan L. Smith
Poetry"Poems from the Quill" is where I place current works that don't fall into other collections. It is here you will find obscure poems that range from constraint to free-verse. I began this collection as a contest entry, years ago, for what was then t...
