Open the plastic lid.
Inside, you'll find:
machine modes,
triple return rotators,
dual combination locks,
and synchronized cylinders.
Touch nothing
until you release the lever.
At that moment,
all the tribes,
they will lose.
That's okay.
Collect and sort them.
They must
find a new place.
Even if they've lost their former spot.
Replace
and rebuild them.
Give them a fresh start.
Blend hues and materials.
Seek openings to exploit.
Release
taut limbs and patterns
that don't align.
Forge new links inside.
Allow them to take shape.
Whatever was gone,
through the years,
dulled or awakened.
Discover a fresh heart,
and impart new life.
Enliven and echo
off the vacant walls.
That's where feelings ignite.
From conflict, not collapse.
Be authentic,
when the world begs you to be otherwise.
That's the breaking point.
When you pass, you'll survive.
Come out
stronger than before,
and then all gears will fall
right into place.
Faith -
last but crucial ingredient
like oil, making it work
for one lifetime and thousands more.
About the Creator
Moon Desert
UK-based
BA in Cultural Studies
Crime Fiction: Love
Poetry: Friend
Psychology: Salvation
Where the wild roses grow full of words...
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More stories from Moon Desert and writers in Poets and other communities.
Violence Begets
"Any last words, cowboy?" "None you'd understand, sodbuster." "Funny. That's Marshall Sodbuster to you. But I meant some last nugget that would help us in the adjudication of the myriad offenses counted against you and your gang. I wasn't asking for penitence."
By Adam Diehl5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
This poem is so intriguing. I feel like you could interpret it in a lot of different ways.