The Mourning Prayer

Straight lines-
the vicious cycle.

Inspiration comes
and leaves
like deities,
genocidal
some eras
and quiet between
floods.

Creativity’s
a dove,

seen most in
seasons we need to be given
few reasons to fly.

The
flower refusing
to die
though it’s
already plateaud in beauty.

Torment and
tomfoolery;

a caricature of jewelry, for
its only gold’s
subjective; dollar worth a
sentimental cent

of a white
screen
canvas
violin or mandolin,

anthems of a
single voice
worked to
the bone.

Not to be wanted for it but
because we cannot
possibly condone a
life without
its presence.

Today is your genesis,
the beginning of all to come.

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