Follower

At that time when clocks were careful
I thought less of spaces with us
loudspeakers on broken pulpits
dusty holes on darkened prayers
I was a story with no image.

a proverb year of lost
is there rain or sunshine
how do you stand on three legs
and become a soup that is tasty.
I am a voice that can strip naked alone.

a curse that can’t be broken
an edge that strikes the ear of gods.
I want to be the breeze that be
the sun that gives shades of wisdom
and the curtain that holds the butt of truth

Ruddapoet