Pick it and pull it apart, shred it and watch the
decay that ensues to bring the pieces back
together and rediscover communication-
The wreckage lies in smoldering resignation,
finding beauty in the dissonance. The light that
fueled the fire has burned a hole between the two.
Possessed by coveted reactions, strangling any
tangible solution, disintegrating as it goes,
testing the breadth of communication-
Pure intentions juxtaposed will set two lovers
souls in motion, fundamental differing, the
dangers of second guessing.
Cast it in the ocean and hope that the tide will
swallow it whole, Watch it as the tangled heap
sinks into the hidden and abyssal depths.
Deterioration descends upon the molded, mildewed
creation. Cold silence has a tendency to atrophy
any sense of compassion.
Disheartened, there is no one to blame, point the
finger and blame the other. Caught in an empty resolution,
bringing nothing but hopeless destruction.
Unable to see to reach an end, crippled
by a lack of communication-
Taking heed of the anarchistic, antagonistic views of another.
One cant help but wonder why another faces violent opposition,
to watch the pieces fall away and form a disgusting, pulpy mass.
Instigating arguments that lead to heightened
communication, only to propose another
unwanted schismatic rebellion.
The poetry that comes from the squaring off and
eternal struggle initiates a degree of apprehension
regarding querulous designs...
An assumed inclination to destroy another can triumph over any circumvention of perceived presupposition by the other-
Doomed to fail unless it grows,
strengthened by communication
