Greenware
Deprived of touch, this vessel was no more
abandoned than the past it had obscured:
a distant being as an endless shore.
So blessed be the cold, the arid word;
its darkness held a dreaming of return
the temporal mind fathoms as absurd.
And praise be to the earth that prayers spurn
in wanting paradise. This earthly weight
was carried until I could not discern
the self from suffering my maker's fate.
The susurrations swell into a roar
of waves these warped and withered forms create.
Deprived of warmth, this vessel is no more.
Its being is the sempiternal shore.
v4.
Greenware
Deprived of touch, this vessel was no more
abandoned than the past it had interred:
a distant being as an endless shore.
So blessed be the cold and arid word;
its darkness holds a dreaming of return.
That rippling blue existence was obscured
by the temporal mind, its empty urn
of longing replicated in the weight
we held so long that we could not discern
the self from suffering this warping fate.
Another part falls to the growing roar
that waves within of yielded grief create.
Deprived of warmth, this vessel is no more.
Its being is the sempiternal shore.
Greenware
Deprived of contact, blessed be the cold,
arid, and dark. Plasticity was wept
away; this weight becomes too much to hold.
Submitting to the pull that things accept
upon abandonment, I am no more
abandoned than the grief that had been kept
from waves, contorting to the breakers' roar.
So faithful was their touch, I shelved belief
in my past being as a distant shore.
Creation seeks creation in its grief
of memory, beyond the graying mind.
Yet this slow deforming gives no relief
from hating the delicate hand's unkind
forsaking of believers it designed.
v2. edit thank you to dukealien, RiverNotch, wasellajam, and milo for feedback
Greenware
Deprived of contact, blessed be the cold
damp dark—an inner warmth has been renewed
before the setting heat and gentle hold
of humankind was felt and misconstrued
as knowledge of the self. I am no more
abandoned than the mourning I subdued,
so eager to be held again in lore
if I was broken that I shelved belief
in my past being as a distant shore.
Creation seeks creation in its grief
of memory beyond the fading mind.
Yet this slow deforming gives no relief
from raving at the gentle hand's unkind
forsaking of believers it designed.
v1. Greenware
Deprived of contact, blessed be the cold
damp dark---an inner warmth has been renewed
before the setting heat and gentle hold
of humankind was felt and misconstrued
as knowledge of the self. I am no more
abandoned than the grief that I subdued,
so eager to reverberate in lore
by my collapse that I could not conceive
my previous being as a distant shore.
Creation seeks creation, seeks to grieve
that memory beyond the fading mind.
Yet slow deforming offers no reprieve
from questioning the gentle hand's unkind
forsaking of believers it designed.
