When angry count to ten,
and then you may begin,
with what you feel it is
you have to say.


Bisect the earth.
You stand over there,
and I over here.

Fill the space between
with soundless dearth
of love and care.

Separate,
drive ego's wedge with sound of self's audacity,
loud noises forged in spite,
alone without veracity.

Bisect the earth.
And,
I will stand right here.

10/09/2007

Posted on 10/10/2007
Copyright © 2025 Timothy Somers