An Ambiguous Personal Truth: Part III

It was September, 

or some other irrelevant month

that one a soul did read his book

and sing her song.

Some even celebrate it.

Such a thing to celebrate,

Nothing worth more stress

and relief.

It is no slave song

or national

or social anthem.

To come all this way for nothing

To Channel these things

only around the world.

Dutiful do and

do two but one know?

What is such a forced question?

No more rhetorical

thrive and


No is such,

No best for last.

No least.

No luck,

No grain but in

a once romantic verse.

Dived for some

coined creature

no mass in this or other hours.

Other thoughts of this


and shining

and neuanced work or

walk and


of known

of the molded

and their

unmolded young

and heavy glows

known lived

always before.

Under what


and partner.

It is no, it is all

and ended

it is only

a thought upon the

hour which could

burn no waste

and could only 


A place I love,

A way I feel

a way a way does feel

in only this attention so 

called miniscule


No lonely no feeling

only spite and the

retribution that is all 


and needed.

To the day it comes,

To the stir of

echoes of a forgotten

repetitive chapter.

Written of right

to be spoken.


and on

  and on.

Published by James J Jackson

I'm a poet from California.

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