shard of glass and twisted fingers

the old men with words on their tongues
dripping wet
spit on the concrete

the prophets of the time long gone
typing away
with geriatric hands

let us raise the wine glass
to their lips
with poisonous twist

what’s all this talk about rampage,
the rage?
what are all these idioms good for
other than
this single page?

let us not ever be born
what have they ever woven
into us
that did not bring death?

yet here we are standing
quite tall
quandary turned into
a break from all this mess
that spiraled towards
enduring regeneration

never-ending alleviation
of suffering
time spins and twirls
to rising
your hair covered in curls
once again

a plot twist unlike any other
we have broken the circle
the hero’s journey shattered
and then
reformed