tom lywood poet

Tom Lywood
Magician
Album 2

Home a rolling word manon the edge of the forestContact


Poem
Cards

Thinking



27/05/2010
holding rails before are real self is slowly exposed bare to ourselves, the keys we never spoke off carefully unlocked with care and timing; some ill, tired, confused frightened but always burning, dying, reborn to a stunning like person.

Everyman who comes as woman, bus driver all confused by the unconscious trick even the Gods chase one another down these dark alleyways. All the places we could not travel those friends who protectected us with their dislikes
held us with their love parted his with the newborn.
the dead walk and pull shake and spit at us, they live in our dead mask. We commit their crime, voices of the past.
The river bends our arms and soul talks of men who call women to their bed we know better: these women live 24 hour's a day in our eyes they sing our song speak to our children and love us so man is made of both him and her but only painted as the one .
The trapped one, the bending one (lost the conection)

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