Worldly wise
makes me ice,
words are lost
in the smog
of the work
for the world.
Can’t then write,
makes me cry,
want to fight
day and night,
decibel rise
gives a high.
Then comes rain,
storm and hail
of peace and calm,
words unarmed
dance on the tips
of fingers and lips.
And so it goes
to come for more
again and again
the cycle contains
a steady rhythm,
Catch it and run.
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