poetry = nonsense
nonsense = meaninglessness
meaninglessness = void
void = nothingness
nothingness = spirit

Final hours
sold his clothes to buy me this parcel of land he did and here I built a home of memories and illusions but said he, in his generous tones “tethered not, become, for the land is continuous not parcelled“ and thus was I given to understand the nature of my wings the need of roving the land my small patch of land no use for clothes he had not shoes, nor hats nor scarves nor the bear skins he sold for my small plot so off he went clad only in what Nature bestowed and happy to have had something to give for giving was his transformation his restoration, his salvation and thus he gave to me for in my poverty I needed and in the postage stamp of my domain I revelled with vistas of scattered clouds a majestic tree and the vastness of two of our eleven oceans nor was that all I ever received for everyone I ever touched gave to me of themselves what they had to give and gave it willingly but only in my final hours did I understand these facts [1-XII-2021]
Copyright © 2011 Erick Calder
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