Concussive forces

threaten the

sanctity of sanity.

 

A calamity of worlds –

colliding with

parallel universes –

 

giving birth to

terse dispersals

that

reek of rehearsals

of the unspoken.

 

Gravitational pulls

of what is,

but can’t be –

tendered to the sacrilegious.

 

Abandoning

the woeful.

 

To

tread on ground

fermented by

the pungent brew –

that utility

of

their futility.

 

Copyright © 2016 ShunPwrites. All Rights Reserved

Writer, poet, possessor of 2 cents, blogger, recovering corporate animal and eternal student of life, who harbors a firm belief in his Grandmother's mantra that: "People need to get off of their rump and do something". All while keeping in mind that a cheering section will only get in the way.

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