Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all? The allure of compliment is what is rent in desire’s making made. If he besieged thee of the fairest would the mirror’s mark remark thy que? Or if she be but allure’s busy bee what honey dost thou produce? The Allure she be, the Allure he be, the Allure of all that be.
The allure of (insert item here). What of all that can be said is not within parentheses realm? The it, the is, the the. The he, the she, the they, the we. Is it all a catastrophe? Of why, we ask, of allure’s mask? To see the be we cannot see? And then we know what we can be, for the be is masking’s asking. We see the be when allure be thee.
From rotunded unders comes a thunder of blunders grasping at making’s wonders. A stretch as far as thunder’s stars shot forth from there to yonder. An eye does see, an ear does hear. Oh dear! Do my senses fail me this thing a wailing me?
Strides make miles of colored fingerings left marred in time’s due tar. Sedimentary evidence expenses its art, the tart among the sweet seedlings mark. Look back, the pillar salt lay presently at thy feet. Take back the that that acts do bring from that.
Summer rain brings gain from everything. Summer’s stars do show us why of anguish’s cry. We wonder why. We winter onward. We fall to get again. The rain. The stain of gain. The snow of allure we know. The know, we allure its show.
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One of the reasons I love poetry and parable is because it brings about a moment in time that creates a whirling in thought and emotion. If there ever was a way a to stitch the two together, writers of the past have definitely paved a way. But delving in such an act, be it writing or reading, opens vistas to things unknown. Thought, emotion, and……..could it be so limitless we truly don’t understand?!
That, in and of itself, can be an allure, for sure. But, sometimes I wonder what avenues of allure one can adventure towards. When the cake, its sweetness known, becomes an investigation into its aura, the cake’s story, its vanishing potential, the mirage it holds in secret, the spice of spark is unleashed, like a trillion threads of sugar atoms revealing their inner home. The land of sugar and spice, its havest is delight.
And so it is with this world. This Earth. The allure of coming to Earth. Why? What? Who? When? Where? How? What allure made us ALL dare? And now that we are here, allure is everywhere. Subtle allure be, gross its cousin. The must have’s and the I want’s, so thick it is like a mosquito swarm. Yet somewhere too Earth houses the latter, who says what about that matter?
The allure of what? It can’t be, says the inquiry in thee. Yet there it be. I’ve let it go! Oooops, another show. Darn it! The allure of it. A smack on the ass or a rose displayed in glass, how the display is enmass. Which way is right, or is it all God in flight?
The allure of everything is what? Maybe just another but.
Zoltan Blue 