In bright sky
the stormclouds gather
thunderheads will form a cluster
Like a strong wind
‘gainst the window pane –
like a winter gale’s bluster
The mouth – it turned
its lips – they cursed –
soon to replicate the story
That wallowed in
its turgid sin
free of hallowed glory
Until one day –
too soon to fray
will lightning tear asunder
One’s only strain
(to soon refrain)
from delusion born from plunder
The butterfly spreads
its wings of steel –
it flutters – in noises fraught with quiet
Voices (loudest) –
yet to be heard – and
uttered – everywhere – in silence
The muffled magnitude –
their cause is staunch –
with belief in one another’s freedom
Like an artisan’s display
of sculptured clay
in a modern world without a kingdom
sensualism 