Delicate poised on the edge of a leaf
In the garb of hopelessness seeking relief,
With an attitude stained a doubtful hue
Is it thee, It is me, it is he, it is you?
Purloined in protracted, stammering fright
Through the shadows of day into simmering night,
Erratically ****** through Hell holes of sound
Into that found, paradoxically, so profound,
….The realisation that deep down within
Melds the heart of a lion with a pitfall of sin.

Tangentially clashing the yin and yan
With that gross inconsistency common to man
And the flailing egos, flailing away…….
Just an utter waste of space, I say!
Through Trump and Putins' nuclear pall
Do the rats and cockroaches inherit it all?
Is it he, is it she, is it thee, is it me
Did we build this vast insanity?
M.
19 April 2018