Verses

My hobbling mind
struggles to grasp the greater truth
the non-linearity of my thought
precludes the obvious
these sun bitten eyes cannot see the light
without your voice to guide me
I am thistle in the wind

Cliche

The glistening hand of doubt
unfolds at unsolicited moments
when it drops the microphone
the static particularizes your fear

You are ever alert for the flood
when your life is the lowland between rivers
but caution is often a useless cliche
must I remind you of the many who have awakened dead