Years, plus, Adult Years

We can’t ignore it, rent into complaisance, avoiding hurt.

Some honor scruples, prone to do well, ever aloof to

inward rumblings. There it breathes, a monster’s echo, a

human whetstone. Oh such therapy, a stranger’s hand,

where a monster maneuvers turmoil. Dragons appear, fully

afire, chiseling databanks. I stood in ripples, agog for

healing, embarking unknowingly. So much mystery,

compounded by issues, where to conquer one is to accept

two. Where does it end? years of complaisance, bearing

witness to crooked persons.

Our firebrand is a thunderstorm.

Shallow ponds become tsunamis, drilling psyches, warding

off confusion. I see it, as luminous as fireballs, wailing

obscenities, forbidding dreams. I yell in return, frustrated

from years of tyranny. Our infection, a youngster’s sorrow,

sympathizing with a monster.

We become so attentive.

A child turns an adult. This appeases nothing, adrift a

sanctum, where trespass is marveled as normal. What is

a future, fraught with bane, screaming for reason? I ask,

drifting circles, charged with electricity, forever

reaching rivers.