Symphony

Still I feel a symphony of agony,
though the blind see it not;
consumed by self-serving inter-
pretations and cheshire duality,

a moment not taken to vivisect
nascent dubeity for the benefit;
ensconsed in backstabbing morality,
mercurial quicksand, planting seeds

in a wasteland, only to witness the
struggle; honesty would bear fruit
consentiently, yet the witness too
struggles unbearably; primacy,

duplicity, ravenous infelicity,
incapable of common culpability;
hallmarks wherein a maniacal,
unjustifiable personality is born

art: untitled 25 by Peterio

Caged

She’s the fade of the smile when they turn away
She’s the burn in the red, puffy eyes
She’s the space between heartbeats
Not living nor dead
She’s the pause at the end of the sighs

She’s the track that remains from the path of a tear
She’s the nod to the voices unheard
She’s the lack of all passion
As he climbs in her bed
She’s the want that speaks not a word

She’s the change in a world that prizes accord
She’s the notion that yet bore the thought
She’s the rage in the cage
But she’s chained in her head
By the lessons that society taught