In the mildness of the unkind,

serenity sleeps with your thoughts.

Cheating on the side of your voice

lying on broken ribs. Awaiting

for you to hiss the emancipations

of city life. "Be the living"

is what my formidable half

enchants. Peace will never

come because it is only

a quintessential idea.

It is only solace

that calms the thirsty

missile throwers

of the world.

Arthur's picture

Last updated June 15, 2011