Noxious Guttural Humps
Written: January 10, 2025
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The stillness separates us —
quivering quietly akin to the cusp of daybreak
when whispers wane —
it can be truly guttural and rugged ~
and dark and moving and galling
all at the same time
and only windows to the soul shine ~
mirrors manifesting mysteries omitted,
A panorama portrayed in pale pigments —
Fierce fervor forges fissures across our souls.
In corridors, of conflict, I carefully continue lonesome —
I can hear the clinking of the swords ~
and the low, guttural growl of commands
Furious flames flicker at my feet,
with searing scars simmering ~
silently beneath the surface —
fires that flicker and fiddle.
There are times when hope shines —
steadfast, akin to a beacon breaking
through misty midnight —
a whisper where whimseys wander
and warmth weaves ~
Even amid the echoes of vacuum,
raw life springs forth.
Augury quivers quietly
akin to quivering quills —
in autumn's crisp, cool currents ~
palms perspire, burdened by the weight
of bottled-up bitterness,
and heart races hammering ~
with a hurried heartbeat—
Syncopated sighs seeking sense.
But then, a halcyon discovery dawns—
a child's chuckle cascading
through time tapestry.
The first flower blooms after a frigid frost—
marking times when ~
zest vivaciously returns.
Thus, we find ourselves in this
delicate cobweb of emotions —
where heartfelt shades of hardship
and happiness harmoniously intertwined—
Each emotion is an earnest echo,
eagerly seeking expression.
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