Since I write under the name Charlton Sect, some of my
readers have dubbed my strange style "sectspearian." This
is based on sounds and tends to be a little strange. I hope you'll give
it a chance. Thank you.
(To one degree or another, isn't all poetry based on sound?
a measurements fight
Charlton Sect
[charltonsect@hotmail.com]
What if there were windows that opened and still blocked the sound?
The sun?
The light?
What if all that came through was a soft but warm breeze?
Tickling and forcing a smile.
I like the storms and the sounds too much, I think.
I drink to sofas and offer the clowns something to laugh at a while.
I keep the warm here in belly.
I dance away.
Crying in the light from joy.
Actually crying from joy.
Can you imagine it?
Think of warmth.
Think of trust.
Think of love.
Think of light.
Think of life's better moments.
Think of doves in mid-flight.
In all we ask -- seconds.
In all we ask -- sights.
A treasure to someone.
A measurements fight.
Poem © 2001 Chris Charlton, all rights reserved
appears here by permission
Author Notes
Whatever the answer to that question,
we find this poem works quite well -- K.L.)
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