A violent cataclysm of

what allows me to live

threatens to rend my languid flesh

in a landslide of irony.

The wind, so silent, so pure

calling with forgotten names

of loves Ive never met

and could not dare dream of.

Tress bend to its almighty power

yet it is as soft as a kittens purr

as she sits in the lap of

contentment and watches this

ambivalent world drift by.

Foolish men brave its clutches

wishing to understand why

the destrution of their lives

was brought about by

what can never be seen,

like the musis that lives within me.

Take in a bountiful lungful

as if it will be your last

for one day the protective layer

will be fated for the destruction

that allowed it to survivie

in the first place.

Author's Notes/Comments: 


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