There’s
a resonance, a calming wave, where war lives, to
breathe
entrapment.
I give it moments, to reconvene, a tear for
heartache.
There
he is, wrapped in stress, to hassle composure. It’s a
universal,
chamber for chamber, an unyielding impact.
Often
to smile, spun for illusion, webbed in barbwire.
For
what to live, an inch of freedom,
followed by rain. I’m
there,
to
gaze a lagoon, to wrestle clockwork,
a
temple,
a
country of temperament.
I’m
a cypress tree, a symbol of mourning, parted with joys,
a
box of shrapnel.
Dewdrops
moisten dreams,
where
leprechauns smelt gold,
where
twilight smiles, over shrimp
Alfredo.
This is gray, for it lives, craving activity, setting
pace,
a touch of irritability. It’s pushing for mischief, a
giant
in a village, to trample huts.
Silence
speaks,
a segment of peace, followed by a widow’s cry. It’s
up
and sour, confined, ever frustrated, looking to mold
reality.
Maintenance is evermore, a poet’s storm, empty, to
live
full.
I
see gray, a semi-illusion, saturated with glitter: utter
affection
to
rest
in
mystic arms. Such is mischief, an inner want, a stranger’s
appetite.
I open shades, to spark a cigar, to garner light.
It’s
a miracle,
a
golden credenza, even a
diamond
armoire:
this
life.
