The Mime

11 Comments

Tags:
  • Philosophy
    • dragonfly1023
    • is thinking, once the tip is gone... it's pointless.

    Poem Commentary

    we live... we die... we learn... we live... we die... we learn..........................

    The Mime

    The attribute of living

    follows once you find the soul,

    and only when you’ve touched the beast

    and seen what it’s made of,

    and been reborn, enlightened more

    from hardship and lost love,

    will answers form the questions

    and reason shape the rhymes,

    in works of unread poets,

    and gestures of the Mime.

    Poem Comments

    (11)

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    GentleT commented on The Mime

    08-25-2009

    We feel we know what we would do in some situations but really never know until put to the test. Afterwards hopefully we become stronger and wiser.
    Reply to Comment

    intramuros commented on The Mime

    07-21-2009

    I will not look at a mime without thinking of your words. Beautiful!
    Reply to Comment

    Sammylin commented on The Mime

    07-14-2009

    Hello dragonfly1023, Delightful, as always, painting a very clear picture of the truth's of life. Loved it! Ever a friend, Sammylin.
    Reply to Comment

    dragonfly1023

    07/15/2009

    thanks for checking it out sammylin. "the truth's of life", I like that. :D

    MSVanallen commented on The Mime

    07-05-2009

    We are enlightened by experience. You have submitted the true sequence of life events from the proverbial 20/20 hindsight, especially if seen from reborn eyes... MSV
    Reply to Comment

    dragonfly1023

    07/06/2009

    very true MSV. love your thoughts and interpretations :D

    lightcourier commented on The Mime

    07-05-2009

    Liked the rhythm of this! Enjoyed it for several readings. Very nce cryptic insight. Enjoyable reading. Thanks!
    Reply to Comment

    dragonfly1023

    07/06/2009

    appreciate the kind words lightcourier

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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