The simple old man cherished self-determination, For he knew how harsh past subjugation had been; He spent his last days ameliorating his city from within, Restoring harmony by easing friction led to his elation; Hark! The baleful bell of belligerence calls for his mediation, Cried one, “If you don’t move, you’re no longer kin,” Retorted another, “Comply to my demands or I shall sin,” Two pedlars quarrel to his dismay and perturbation;
After standing there, ascertaining what was wrong, He spoke politely in a tone, with righteousness, rife; “My brothers, only where there is love there is life,” “Forgiveness is simply an attribute of the strong,” A sigh of relief! He had settled another strife; Was this prudent old man He, all along?
Walking in mental fog, you become a swaying tree. In mistiness one becomes lonely like a blackbird. Hollyhocks would wait, till the sun comes out. December rain brings the gift― of sleet on lips. ————————————– Walking in mental fog, you
Confessional truth is not my aggressive ego, it is my fault. The resolution of my conflicts with time, the smell of the broken limbs, my head in hoisted fever, my eyes searching for a cloud. The ultimate otherness, of an
couples run naked then plunge into the vast sea laughter ensues… through the duration of the night a flock of birds with intense sounds In the distance the still silence then an old man appears gets into his boat and