poetry

My Bond

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Must unravel, an unhandled display, of being tongue tied,
in instances.
By truthfully saying what everyone thinks, questioning tbe pleasure of business, often,

conducted by winks.

Disallowance in untangling an enraged wit,
of thoughts created to pacify the ways of thinking, that stinks, merely  too form a piece of peace,
for it is, what we all seek?
To pleasure a discerned link,
as a wind chill
whips through, testing the ego and heart’s, need of a mink.
A cozy cushion of cute words,
empty of true meanings,
to roam free,
floating airily toward the heart, 
but never truly, sinking.
As we wait for it all to capture and enthrall us,
catch up with our gall,
and stop appalling us,
for the nature in which we crawl,
to recognize,
a ring of infinity trapped inside a real 24 kt, compliment’s,
zing.
For what I say I mean,
no reading between the line,
half guesses,
if ands,
or but’s unanswered,
left unassured,
unsecured or betrayed by a wink,
in labels that measure the effect to iron out, kinks.
My word is not untangled from my bond, my word is essentially, effortlessly, effectively and exceptionally my word,
my tie,
my pleasure,
my pride
my bond.
POETRY By Tamara Dorsey-Moore
Thinker on the Loose
Copyright (c) 2017 Reserved purposes intended. Reblog

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