Living inside the braided folds just for today.
Tangled roots whisper; I can’t hear what they say.
Memories are a splinter in the eye.
Promises broken become calcified naïveté.
Black Swan, slippery like Mercury—haunting.
(A life lived well is not a parley.)
Water ceasing to hydrate what is crumbling.
Silt becomes an urn for ashes someday.
Days are shorter as darkness encroaches.
Mornings sweeter with precious days.
As civilization collapses under its own weight,
we desperately need you to disobey.
I enjoyed the constraint. I think I’ll keep going with this.