A Panacea


To brood,

Causes one to be rude,

To think of one as whole causes us to conflate.

Enabling us to be selfish, and finding ways to relate.

Thinking of others provides images, diaphanous in nature.

Ebullience is all acknowledged ‘til one matures.

We miss others true ability.

By their becoming of appearance, their felicity.

Care free is the way we brood,

Causing us to be rude.

As we do it for leisure,

Judging, joking and teasing start to inure,

Causing the anger inside them you cannot see.

Tearing one apart without empathy.

“It’s just a joke, a thought,

A friendly gesture they sought.”

You say as an ingénue individual would.

You continue to speak, feeling you should.

Excuses flow lissomely,

Altering you and defending your personality.

At first you were murmurous,

Now though you are creating a fuss.

They were also murmurous. As your brood thoughts became word.

Words that kill when heard.

Word that became action.

Action, ending with a fraction.

A fraction of a panoply.

Inside the one you should have admired actually.

The jaw drops, and eyes become opulent.

The hostility disappears, it’s not present.

Without any idea of where it went.

The face shows their soul, crippled and bent.


Brood concentration!

Rippling inspiration.

Eyes placed in one location.


Of the pain you brought.

What you ought.

What you sought.

What you seek.

Help them reach their peak.

They’re in a low.

From your blow.

You run off, like cat, a cheetah.

Pursuing happiness, a change, a panacea.



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