Sitting, simmering in the soul
The remnants of a conscience pang
Hovering, holistically
To scarify internal slang.
Banally, belligerent
The would be, could be, might be, won’t
Embattled deep, so deep within,
The me, inside, roars loudly… “DON’T”

Locked within a silly song
A nervousness leaps back and forth
A twitching in the raised eyebrow
First east then west, south then north.
Torridly to cast about
Wrack the skull for answer clear
Sack the flaming gates of Hell
In inspiration’s roasting fear.

Suddenly it all clicks in
To fit together lock and key,
To slide incumbent, one on one,
To tantalize that smile from me.
Oh the rush of fresh relief
As if awash in crystal spring,
To titivate the vaulting joy
Of ego’s maniacal thing.

M.
Waikato, New Zealand
29 November 2017