Portal

If it be true that every entrance shadows
somewhere an exit, then it be true that love
is blind. The giving of ourselves up for the
auction of emotions, the owned and owner
mapping the future in the bliss of thier
afterglow, penning them in, to the poetry
of joint dreams, where, when they wake
they salute the sun with knowing eyes
but mislead minds. The love they have
is the thawing and freezing of water
in the crack of thier passion wall.


I think of things that enter, and see how,
despite lengh, love, taste, or desire, they
always inevitably pass through- like a
circus rolling into town, exciting, thrilling,
pleasuring before rolling on.
The act of love, the eating of food, the
reward of work, all comings of a going.
Last night as I lay like a lost dog denied
of its owners love and trust I whimpered
within- taking note of the clouds-
an advancing arming storming forth
leaving nothing but a simile of thought
and an empty sky.

- Entrance & Exit, by Vincent James Turner

- Seen in Flickr Explore, 22 October 2007