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Crashing thunder of human heart and brain scattered thought, running deceit with poppy adorned lapel.
Where silence stood for all too many year, with cut price gesture and half empty cup.
The long uneven road that climbs the sun bleached mountain, becomes whiter still until words loose their footing and silence is born like an unplanned child.
Where dearth of word gives rise, majestic, glowing, to somber thought of wondering eye and touch.
Why why, why under moon and alcohol did said eye and touch wonder? And wonder further when the touch was less wonderful.
Utterly unlike the tender lamb we ate mouthful upon mouthful of mutton and fat. With coarse lips softened from fat yet hard dry words still flowed.
With a thousand apologies later doors unlocked, yet doors remain unused and un-entered.
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Unfinished.
