Perspective Lines – a poem

Where do we draw the lines?

The motions of later compared to now,

Wayward firing lines pulse in rhythm

Without proper tempo kept, slithering,

Dry gains made consecutively, distracting.


Clicks in every movement, air escaping,

Supposedly, from within, the evil sleeps,

Awaking now and again to bother us

With thoughts of illimitable horror;

Humdrum terror manifest now, more than ever.


Pulse, pulse, fire and lancing sting,

Why, it makes the material maudlin,

So fruitless, for what value holds

When the pain is so shocking, so cold?

We roam amidst waves of wild agony.


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