"Not Spoken"
Don't speak of love.
When you don't know its meaning.
It's not what it's seeming.
Your mind needs a cleaning.
I'm not arriving, just leaving.
Underneath it all you're seething.
I'm heaving in heaven.
Should 7 become 11.
I'll know it's really 9:11 a.m.
When you hit the street.
In all of its fiery heat.
Today is Saturday's Thursdays.
In a magical blue haze.
Pull out the book's page.
Rebel against the rage.
Spoken by a long forgotten sage.
By Jonathan Billet
03/04/15
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