Thursday, March 31, 2016


What is the intent?

What do they say?

Why the force

Why the fray?

Whom do they fear

Why do they scare?

Some churn

Others burn

Some play

Others slay

Sharpened edges


In metaphors

Hide, the flourish

In adjectives, intent.

Magnificent splendor

Wide open vistas

Wretched topography

Stakes in the ground, all bent.

Like calculus in a pebble

Strewn across

A muddy bottom

Holding memories

Deaf and mute

For another

To recreate, new vision.

Words indeed

Impeccably said

Artfully fashioned

Carefully articulated

Speak volumes

Of something,

Of nothing,

Of anything.

They speak

Of love

And togetherness

Of hate

And separation

Of deceit

And loss

Of innocence.
The force

Of a vowel

Changes the intent;

But the yielding quiet

Mutes any defense.

The eagle soars

Held down by a string

Widening the gyre

Till felled from exhaustion.

Anger spent.

That vainglorious beast

Perpetuating myths

of Indescribable events

Imagined briefly

To Ego's bent.

Yet all is waste

All for self

T'ill self is no more

Wasted time

Time Spent.

Washed away, listless

Second sweeps the face

Words injure

Mortality endures

Emotions inured

Life ends.
Time moves

Cycle begins

Hollowed thoughts

Words spent

Same intent.

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