deepundergroundpoetry.com
Call
In tranquility, speckled with sunshine and flora,
alive with the breath of all creation great and small,
there is a call to destruction unanswered
inside the mind of the idle,
well and unwell,
thriving through sweat-stained joy,
yet still licking dried chaotic bloodstains
long since cleansed by the quiet of contentment,
yet still hearing cacophonous whispers of tedious conflict
Fires ravaging behind distant eyes
without rhyme or reason,
fanned by the winds of melancholia
without so much as a flinch
the call is wild,
though my response is mild,
In tranquility, speckled with raindrops and pavement
alive with the breath of all seasons warm and cold,
sleep now, calling, for you’ve no place here
(though you’ll always have my number)
alive with the breath of all creation great and small,
there is a call to destruction unanswered
inside the mind of the idle,
well and unwell,
thriving through sweat-stained joy,
yet still licking dried chaotic bloodstains
long since cleansed by the quiet of contentment,
yet still hearing cacophonous whispers of tedious conflict
Fires ravaging behind distant eyes
without rhyme or reason,
fanned by the winds of melancholia
without so much as a flinch
the call is wild,
though my response is mild,
In tranquility, speckled with raindrops and pavement
alive with the breath of all seasons warm and cold,
sleep now, calling, for you’ve no place here
(though you’ll always have my number)
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