On my Deathbed
I told language:
Thanks for having my children
The language had names,
As did the children:
They were all words.
I dreamt of a door
The kind without windows
That always stands open.
I remembered some more
So I said the unspoken:
I gave them my want.
It declined.
Graphic Novels & Webcomics by G. E. Gallas
"As for me I reduce everything to a tumult of words" - Clarice Lispector
"the letter always reaches its destination" -- Jacques Derrida
Chasing big dreams one photo at a time
Poetry, haiku, tanka, and micropoetry
I had a dream that I didn’t want the lion to eat the lamb and the lion came up and lapped my face like a big puppy dog and then I picked up the lamb and it kissed me. - Jack Kerouac
an investigation into the nature of our engagement with spaces, by means of documentary gesture towards the everyday
Chantelle Atkins, Author
Fiction, Nonfiction, and Poetry Journal
"As for me I reduce everything to a tumult of words" - Clarice Lispector
A blog about literature not yet available in English
© 2018
Something feels like time is not yet done here. Something…like a hand, reaching out from a candle in the darkness…
exquisite.
Beautiful poem.