We
catch hell to live it;
many
opt out, strumming
sickness;
a different type
of
illness; where they hide
for
but a moment.
How
to outwit a colony; racing in
calmness, cleaving to
nonchalance?
We
breathe to filter flame, to dance a chant, to argue in
seldom.
We watch for snails, ever to weep, searching for
stop
signs. We grieve, even to wail, to grip a ship. Life is
silent,
but ever vocal, to bridge staircases. Our world—is
meditated,
a conscious breath; to thrum a heart, or burn
a
flare, to listen for strangers. We utter—“No!”
to feel a
season…mindful
of these things. Love eternal, a pier
within,
among the darkness. We till for harvest, to thresh
a
kingdom, titled for Namaste. Every
cage a zone, an
unspoken
tune, to feign as friends. Its joy to pain, to
croon
in agony, unless a signal. We stop it, a sore lament,
to
wither in anguish. Some are fretful, a broken window,
mourning
‘til dawn. We rage this way, to hear for laughter,
a
solemn soul sad. Hands are outstretched, mirrors to
mimic
souls, he’s inside out. It becomes fate, a sore
indifference, to guard sanity.
We live it, fragile for tattered,
spinning
through spiders. We hush it low, to sit in silence,
mindful of these things.
