She
possesses strength, plus, grit,
to
mold a nation. Ever
to
battle, a wee bit tired, for a daily
struggle.
A ceiling’s
high,
to charge through, to puncture
through
guts. Men
hassle,
a castle’s burning, to be
boarded
in segments.
Some
pains are invited, more for
discomfort,
to penetrate
a
kernel. We watch at unawares, to
witness
a crux, to
avoid
anguish. Smiles are gestures,
where
gestures are
pain,
more for a genuine pause. It’s
a
secret, to drift—so
many
worlds, where time is harsh,
peace
is tearful, and
conflict
soothes a scar. Such mind
for
madness, an art of
ore,
to fill a crevice. A swamp brews,
to
disappear, if
only
for a week; but a keel is crooked, to indicate a slant,
where
humanity fails. We’re want to speak, where walls
are
thick, so we feign nonchalance. This angers, for a
mind
whistles, alert to subtleties. How to sing, where song
has
perished, to paint in black and white? It’s ever gray,
for
this is strength, often relativistic. So to witness steel,
is
to ponder cushion, where image cuts through silence.
