Otzar Vacant
The sparrow's song falls silent
upon my dulcimer pulse
with collisions most violent
replacing verve's firm impulse.
In these kinetic visions
I find my current suppressed
by limitless decisions
impossible to digest
in the whorl of such motion
until hate gets hurled about
to replace my devotion
with vast abundance of doubt.
This mind must grind when inclined
to shake my mantle away
from blind invasions maligned
that only serve to betray
the hope I scope on my slope
when I reach out uncluttered
to grope and cope at your rope
until the Guf gets shuttered.
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