Post Clarity

Ardor born of the vexing

Synchronized a society to which I reluctantly belong

We have all once died laying beside our body in repose...

Filled to the brim with anxiety

Indisposed.

Because, like the hounds, following the hints of a memory

Man is unabashed in deriving pleasure with abandon from all the waste

Indulging this hate so hard, so indiscriminate, so haste...

So satisfying.

Love becoming temporal in time; brazen in its forthrightness - peppered with kisses chaste,

But so pacifying.

I count my pedals and put ever the sense to its epithet

Did swoon, depraved, but for the very least, cognizant of it.

For it is up to my own person not to tolerate one day

This severance from the molder the clay

Heaven forbid the razor handle ever be put to a use

Outside of carving from it a gilded flute.