A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.


We are the rainbow,
The rain
And the sun,
The liberty lost
Before striving begun,

We are the silence,
The calm
In the storm,
Clouds changing shape,
Yet escaping all form.


That piercing truth,
That jagged awakening,
Defying the smooth curves
Of nature's gentility,
The sharply faceted,
Blinding diamond,
The stake to the heart
Resistant to
Immediate familiarity,
Slipping away into
Comfort's contour,
The sword from the stone,
The bolt from the blue,
To split asunder
Those conforming dreams,
The shattering intrusion,
The irrefutable shock,
Are these not
Nature's ways,
Never turning
In her sleep,
No night time horror
Disturbing her
Most lawful play?


That soft, 
Fleeting kiss 
Of now,
Upon the cheek,
The sparse dusting
Of its sensation,
Escaping proof,
For eternity,
Melting between
The crevice-way,
Briefly visible
In all that is unseen,
Though majestically,
Little more than
That none
May confirm,
Yet stands
So bold
And proud
In memory.


Most devilish alchemy,
Transmuting death,
From Liberty,
How brave the truth
That stands,
Eternally proud,
Against such ruthless flailing,
Where all become,
In honour's failing,
The enemy of a few,
Bitter, cheapened lives,
Whose blood
Now mingles
With the freedom
So despised,
A short taste for them,
In their final breath,
Of how we dream,
Of what our burden's for,
To live with love,
Each day for more,
No destiny
Upon some further shore.


How exotically curious
It is to be,
Of infinite possibility,
There is no variety
Of me,
The mirror for a soul,
And its rejoicing.
I know not,
The magic
That lets me be,
But basking
In its supremacy,
Love rebounds
From its contraction,
Seeking only
To be free.


The prodigal son
Of success,
In extreme,
An automaton,
Of the American dream,
With the loud bluff
Of a powerful nation,
And the puff of proud
Separation made,
A black-smoked conflagration,
The zenith of disintegration,
Snakes its way
From constitutional stockades.