Poem written half asleep,
half a fugue and
three feet deep.
These disparate dreams abide
paths for flow, yet
all collide.
Bilateral symmetry,
visual bigamy,
insanity infancy.
A clock ticks
distantly.
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@literarypug
No Victory March
She awaits the divine to find her
so she may give a name
to her will to feel significant,
her dreams to be fulfilled.
But high upon her pedestal
she prefers not do the work
to help her prince to reach her
and so she sleeps alone.
Though held in vaunted ‘re-noun’,
it aint no passive word,
despite what starry-eyed poets croon,
‘Love’, it is a verb
Literary Pug
Clement Parker