Muse & Dance

Much more the pain absent of joy, and much more the joy

absent of pain. It’s near and far a trace of normality, up and

‘till ghosts and dread puncture thought and soul. We seek

to blame friend and foe, dearly mad, surfing insanity. I love

her more present in voice, as opposed to a nomad aura. Our

life, but fractions and decimal points—a dot on a map; but

earth a tiny morsel, ever craved, where silence is a go-sign.

So heart and soul—painly ravaged; and mind and thought

slowly tortured; but give us this life, where voice is law, and

art is warmth, two steps near a break-through. We smile in

passing, pause, and judge—eye-to-eye with friend and foe.

Thus, slight and scam a nature veiled, and pleasant charms

a tinted temper. I tell—to vent; and surely understood; for

words pressure for freedom, manicured and censored.