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Threading Hunger’s Needle
                                by Odin Roark

Acumen's voice smolders quietly
When deafened ears respond only
To discords of witlessness.

Perception's heat invites comfort,
Its embers remaining alive,
Its wake of constant resolve
Lifts vigils of swirling persuasion,
Choking away illiteracy,
Ignoring cross or sickle waved ominously.

Ever present, creation’s insight 
Remaining airborne in a void for those
With causeless breath being held,
Affecting not its surroundings,
Forever stale within ether locked,
Where roiling chasms of fear
Exude odiferous spoilage,
Rotting,
Polluting,
Repelling.

Such misery holds steady,
Amidst the multitudes’ repeated indulgences of flesh,
Where masses’ quintessential reptilian skin
long overdue for shedding
remain stagnant.

But cling it will,
This resistance to reflection and growth,
Feeling falsely safe in unknowing
The rewards of philological pondering,
Literature’s sign and verbal,
Touch and smell,
Eye and ear,
An all-sensitive motion
Making ready transference from literal
To one’s personal ethereal possession.

For some…

A chosen distance remains preferred.
A huddled observation from
Deep in the abyss of ignorance,
Convinced personal importance is to perish alone
Amidst a cacophony of unresolved noise.

Always close by, however…

Wisdom’s whisper continues to nurture hunger’s tenacity,
Knowing a needle unthreaded is of little use.

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