I have seen the best minds, of another time.
I knew them well and confided their secrets
in my heart. I have seen minds devoured and
minds engorged, fattened by the arrogance
of a start above.
When a single sound becomes the echoed chime
or even a blackened expectation of regrets
I saw them, the best of minds drift to sand
slipping through cracks of an impatient dance.
On the blazed stove.
We can sing our songs as loud, or recite
Ourselves like definitions, but falter and fail
At exposing ourselves to the other hole.
The impatience of satisfaction will hold
you down, and crush.
Hold poetry in my face to see if I bite.
Bring the melody to heart and follow a trail
of redundant pacings, hoping to carve a world.
It was all done, and all stories told.
We just might need a push.
Creation, Destruction, and passing from one
to another. I'll weep for the inability.
I'll keep a new wound to be sung about
to the beat of a Civil War Drum
