Friday, March 20, 2015

Untitled Poem 3/20/15

Entranced and obsequious
to a unifying tyranny,
the one that serves us best.
But does it really?

do idiosyncratic ways
not fit the mold,
are they a cancer,
must the branches be
trimmed so that the fern
isn't overbearing?

Perhaps this incongruity
is a carapace that must be
shed, in order to grow.
The tyranny, it is
self-imposed, so that
everything may flow,
so that the ferns
don't obstruct the paths
and new skin breathe anew.

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