Thoughts on a Note
The hands seem disturbingly mundane without a rein
Because the mud drains the adhesion entailed
Houston we have a problem
This addiction to diction outline all the faults in the vault
Creaking an alchemist board
Until it yields a pattern that patters into all firewalls
One of them is a realm where ingenuity meets semantic ambiguity
That\'s why thoughts on a note decode
And when a rhapsode recites it, it echoes
And the pen obstruct the construct of minuscule dots
That were all poured in a capsule
Taking thrice a day with a story told and retold
Around the burning coal
Which hinges on a core amidst breathing souls intertwined
The contours trickles through the webs of my mind
If only I could turn water into wine
In order to turn what the world made immaterial corporeal
Because nobody wants to lose the use of their hands