This is what they say
On hills tread by none
A fallen statue a forgettable mess
Since the manicured fist has clenched

Down must flies squabble
With their loose change afloat
Upon their eyes a green diamond
Easing its way into the neurons

Patiently the balloon seeks an admirer
Confirmation without justification
A shadow cannot quiet the dilemma
Nor can falsified guidance
Acclaim its rightful ire

Humming a tune the dead write
Piano keys stretched on a palm
Inscribed words a scar-full melody
Echo will screams rejoice in ablution

Take on wish a supposed lover
Seeks to undermine a foundation
Set afoot the stones crunch
Below the rumble a subtle pleasantry

Hold on must the created
For something worth dying for
Alone they wallow doubt’s pity
None allowing the birth of stars
To hasten their embracement

Cloudy I recall a memory
This shroud kindling wounds
I witness a face full of color
But drained without emotion
For I witness this yield
No more the keys have begun to drum



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