A dipthong  - this is not a foolish man
Inappropriately dressed for sea or sand
Nor yet a verbal dipping, nor a thong
Nor yet a tropic river that flows along

A dipthong is two vowels in harmony
One with another dancing gracefully
Without a consonant to interrupt
Through a harsh, hinging sound that’s too abrupt

The poorly called but sweetly sounded dipthong
Is just another name for a little song

sometimes the walls
peel down    
in tears and metal
as the floodgates
               open wide
as the soul is bared,
raw,
              exposed
softly humming
its release of pride
heartbeats strong
head up high
queenly stance
bearing storms
ready for the battle
taking form
yet holding on tight
to solace's reins
praying to heaven
for grace in the strain
for soon the cry
                  to action
will fall upon this
           tender land
all that exists
washed away in
        a whirlwind
of sand    
in the distance
a lightflare
a whipping up of womb
a time for victory's place
in this tempest monsoon
and within my skin
in the flight of
               my freeze  
my pain opens up
and allows
me
          to
               breathe

clouds
like waves
in the stormy sky.

worn out,
the silence
- it sounds
rusty.

time
ticking you away

and you don't know
what it means

like that tree in a
slow motion death.

how could you tell it,
listening to the birds
in the still light?