A gasp of air became a sanctimonious ritual, following days trapped in comfort, how absurd? Soul neared collapse as winds threatened to blow, rage, and singe from overhead. I will the scent of freshness to cillit these asbestos ridden thoughts
that
have
accumulated.
I will the sound of cars to rage against the dying of the light.
I will the smell freshly cut grass to temper ill thoughts that roam.
I will the mind to take heed of human love and not wallow in wireless hypocrisy.
Bad blood amongst bluds needn’t overwhelm as the call for dinner is likened to a call to bear arms.
To toil amongst human folly in an increasingly interconnected world is to swim in unison with sharks dressed to pantomime.
