portrayed so perfectly balenced well-proportioned
whatever makes the quickest buck
Still Passion exists lop-sided,
also in quick pants of normal breaths.
We do pluck plain ordinary breaths from the recesses of our mind)
is a metaphor for all that is right pure
holy in the pen in the hand blessed by the
poet in all the truth he sights.
Searching through each countless bag of infinite
bland -- diamonds in the ruff: heartache,
cheer, freedom, love, hate, death.
All which we have been through celebrations
(and of the like), tearful; Sufferings, never
more clear. Like Michael the Arch's words,
the poet's pen will strike.
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