of everything unknown.
Tension writhes in fear
It’s leaves wither in despair
over a coming cloud, that is
told to be of foreign origin, has been
foretold to bring the swirling whirls
of disruption and the wrenching
gusts of disturbance,
that distances the warmth above
away from the barren vacancy
it provides a commonplace, one unlike
what most had ever grown accustomed
to seeing, to breathing in, something so strange
and wonderful, you ponder it’s meaning, and
amateurishly chart its probability of having been
created from heaven or heathen
and this borderline somehow
offers a tingling sense of desire,
a curiosity, an anticipation, an uncanny
combustion of fire—waylaid in its dormancy
while all the while impatience shrugs
it’s vengeful neck, from which the body heats
to an ungodly burn—painting thoughts, color
and emotion in an increasingly frantic harness
of terrible twos at thirty-eight, transforming
the pleasure of the new, into the jaded askew—
and so the grey floods the freeway with the oil upon a seemingly gentle feathered brush.
And so charcoal dances, always is, dancing in the distance, waiting for the dry-erase wipe of pleasure. Anticipating conditioning will coil in the way it always does, and bleak ennui shall once again fill the ever-combative attention span of the what’s next to break societal view.
and it’s in this fledgling composition, where
wisdom could grow to be unlike anything
we had ever known. But sadly, patience and savor
is not encoded within.
But the composition accumulates its dust-filled coat,
wearing it like a badge of honor, understanding it is
but a statement of the current time, knowing, knowing
that one day, a hand shall wipe clean the dusty frame,
and there, in that moment, these eyes will truly see,
the wonder and importance of what lies beneath.