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Prose of a Con

Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow

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July 12, 2021 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

I elevated my mind
stimulants fuelled a cathartic state
battling still contemplation
the war between the two
opened doors to my spirit’s dimensions
infiniteness
waves of continuum
I plucked a lily in a field of frequencies
which swayed like flowers in a trance
the lily caught my eye
a godly mind intuited
and then, a gardenia
reflecting on my purpose
raw,
yet pure
and I sought a hibiscus
opposites are complimentary
so contemplatives’ attract…
cathartics
that makes sense
in this quantum realm
where every step is a quantum leap
every jump,
an astronaut’s curiosities
violets abide
still I searched for you
in a field of flowers
or frequencies
waves of continuums
needing to sense your experiences
or experience your senses
is that senseless, here?
either way,
you always stand out
though finding me-
your only flaw,
how don’t you see me?
do the frequencies you exist within
blot me out?
am I too obscure?
perhaps, too much a mystery,
to your perceptions?
or is it that,
one neglects to notice the non-flower
the one who never fits
in
though it beams and beckons
like eyes resembling a lighthouse
shinning onto you?
guiding you to shore
or are you too adrift
land being too convoluted for you
your senses, a megaphone
every stress and tension amplified
the music of being, shifting from
a choir
to an orchestra
to a siren within a riot
maybe you just need quiet
I am a scrambled mesh of
treble bass and reverberation
at times, suffice it to say
maybe it’s not me
maybe you’re too spectacular
to yield in awe of
the miraculous.
are you aware of this
as a possibility within you?
I couldn’t blame you
being a marvel all of your own
how does it feel?
is the sun, just the sun to you?
a blameless and jaded star,
in your vast sky?
who am I to tell you,
that I am more than a star?
more than the sun?
what would that even look like,
let alone sound?
I let down my mind
stimulants wearing like aged clay
shaking my head
like a lion reveling its mane
and like that,
the thought of you dissipated.
but never the memory
it’s clear and registered like a
…passport
and though I can’t travel
I can fantasize…
or dream

Filed Under: Love, Spirit

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Prose of a Con

Prose of a Con is a collection of Russell Wardlow’s prose and poetry written entirely behind bars. Through writings on family, spirituality, freedom, love, justice, redemption, and vulnerability, Russell seeks to show the humanity and hope of individuals like himself who are incarcerated.

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