I joust with myselves,
Have had long, hard duels
Doubts stilling the destruction
Those stricken conversations,
Taken into word wars.
Rites of passage, strewn
With shock and questions.
My dirt roads, grown up into highways
Eager spikes wound; sounds are muffled
My days filthy, and malevolent
Unity has a division all its own.
The ground a muddle of peaks and troughs
We must wrestle a collision of answers.
Struggle to weave the push, and pull of thoughts.
With a dominion of faults, rusty are corroding minds
The march to suicide, an antidote to oblivion.
©Tracy Webs
T