FURROW

We are detached hearts that

Flutter in the breeze.

One appeases, another pleases.

Sacrosanctity sought by both in wrinkled

Cloaks of naïveté and knowledge.

Pummeling, seeking more of both:

Intensity of love and hope.

And we impoverished mortals that

We are, no longer quote the raven

“Nevermore.” But furrow for sustenance in

Deeper realms where only the impenetrable

Dwells.

What joy is found is so translucent, always a

Conduit of confusion. The only

Answers do evaporate into a kingdom of

Almighty fate.

We wish we had control of all but slowly

Realize for the door of cruelest mortality,

Acceptance is the sole key to any kind of

Sanity.