Anonymous A

Private Clay

Devoid of all light, unable to glisten;
Moist eyes content, with prolonged obscurity;
No hovering shadows; nor promising rays;
The audience applauded a stagnant haze;
A belligerent intrusion by unwanted radiance;
Shattered a sanity that was bizarrely cohesive;
Vying for equilibrium: a wicked dichotomy;
Compelled to explore; ever so cautiously.

While sifting through rubble; platinum emerged;
The demons did flinch and some pain was dispelled;
Enlightenment dawned on that fateful day;
Solace was molded from private clay.

Assorted Tones

Satin strings on an iron guitar;
Convulse to produce assorted tones.
Tones so shrill, the pick faints; for malady was
Acknowledged but melody ignored.
Conspicuous and weary these assorted tones,
Yearn for indifference; so they swim;
Across oceans of protruding ears;
In search of arid shores.
On these shores, deaf sharks stay;
Searching for unassuming prey;
But tones are invisible and the sharks can’t hear;
Shore was home; there was nothing to fear.

The Fabric Of Hope

You’re still weaving the fabric;
the fabric of hope;
while doleful and vexed, in the
darkness I grope.

Your jaunty articulation;
so incredibly profound;
with an immediate incentive;
You had us spellbound.

You snap out of complacency;
your compulsions apparent;
prudence induced a tidal wave;
fabric swept by the current.