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Memories

I believe
his eyes betokened
the pioneer spirit,
as did the jut of his jaw
- so forcibly -
the farsighted gaze,
the winglike structure of his mind.
He gerrymandered
the boundaries of my heart
- my heliocentric constituency -
to include him at every turn.
He’s my memory now,
a surface hard
with incised marks,
that he made impassable
to temptation and doubt.
I feel again
infinitesimal pain.
My whole being cries out for him.
But it intimates - the silent Paraclete -
and every mortal word of it
is le mot juste.

Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
Last few words: 
This is a vintage poem, part of a collection I'm building.
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

that the language gives pause at first; but then I realize that it gives one things to think about. The words are tantamount to the feelings expressed and of a grand nature. Nice job. ~ Geez.
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I agree about the language, Geez. It's part of a collection I'm gathering together, with vintage or rare forms and words.
I'm glad it makes you think, sorry about that! lol. The words are rather unusual. Best wishes.

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

we can only crawl or crave to be
about others I can't speak
it's voiceless me only

Hi wkamen, what a sad, poignant poem. So powerful. I love the imagery of the sea and other of the lovers' favorite places.
I would only suggest that you "prune" it a little. You, take out some extra words to make it smoother.
No other nits, enjoyed and keep 'em coming.

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment
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