poetomachia

the voices of the hills open up
and the hands of the clouds float above us
your feet tread the canyons
and the sun crowns your brow

dead water glory
when hooking on one’s self
how is it unholy
balanced on ocean shelf

silence is golden
poetry is platinum
dissonance U238
clouds are metallic
peace shattering
good but not safe

when you speak, and i hear
there’s an end, to my fear
with your hand, on my head
i awake, i’m undead
open the door, i enter
into peace, find center
in the vale, clouds asunder
light cracks and, rolls thunder

and if you really want to know
quiet disgrace beneath the skin
i’ve grown so tired of the
asnine consequence regret within
and no, i probably can’t make a difference
i’m not wrong about the twist inside deed
don’t we wish we could meet a kindly old man
who’d bandage our wounds and teach us to read

there is wisdom there
where rain and honey fall
behind the water fall
where wisdom is fair