Thursday, May 10, 2007


Surrounded by his inability
The dogwoods never felt so far away
As when the dual-panes separated day
From the humming din of sterility
And such was that cold incivility
Forgotten to ponder his own decay
Beneath petaled skies of more red than gray
With a certain macabre tranquility

Far easier it is to kill a man
Than subjugate a living man a slave
His soul cannot be checked, his mind not chained
His mind and bud analogous began
The petal flourished, but his body drained
Leaving a cruciform to mark his grave