This Poem

Will knot, right?

Itself being less malleable

but nevertheless still pliable

in terms of magic.

Magical commands dress down

any common determination.

Determined, but why?

Less out of duty than desire.

For, nothing linear

will do. In terms of the

requested eternity.

We need our forever.

Knot it, bend it.

Never permit the lines form.

Our immortality depends

wholly on this rule.

Rules intended to

bend. Broken denies

the realisation. Of our

intended end.

Circles and knots.

We need our forever.

Our voices heard

the knotted word.

Published in Ditch,


21 responses to “This Poem

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