A poetic experience

Poetry about
poems is redundant. Still,
simple, beautiful.

The last line of each poem is the first line of the next. GO!

 

Simple, beautiful
glass jar of honey
liquid amber
thankfully, no bugs
trapped inside

 

Trapped inside
The Nowhere Room,
Eating dust and breathing gloom;
Making sure the
Madness lives
Until someone will forgive.

 

Until someone will forgive,
I live in this madness.

Until I forgive myself,
Always will I loathe.

 

Always will I loathe
The insects on the windowsill,
The bats from the night-caves below,
The moths that bring the frog to the cold glass,
The life that abounds in spite of me,
Whatever reminds me of hell.

 

Whatever reminds me of hell
Gives voice to heaven, too:
Against my sin, its cure I see
The darkness serves to frame the light
And death's made slave to life