The poetry is folding
In metaphors which grieve
The memories I’m holding
In forms of make-believe
Until I conjure them alive
Through elemental forces
In which our dreams still thrive
And timeless love still courses
And somehow you shall know this
As the memories grow old
And the tender past shall throw this
Into this future now foretold.

Copyright Kosmogonic 2018

9 thoughts on “Foretold

  1. I was genuinely charmed by this poem, Kosmogonic, and I especially enjoyed the rhythm and rhymes. But I’ve been so far puzzled by what meaning, if any, that it’s trying to convey? Could you help me with that, please?

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you Paul. It has no meaning, as such, but it does have a purpose – which is to create the feeling of metaphysical confusion when memory, destiny and the flow of time lose their supposedly logical ordering.

      Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you. Yes, the Muse works in mysterious ways. It often starts from pain but eventually moves into something more intrinsic and complicated which involves that fantastical mix of memory, loss, hope and the great sense of almost-inexplicable otherness which poets cannot leave unturned.

      Liked by 2 people

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