Steel A Great Irony

That one gets lost in one’s own mind
occurs as necessity before salvation,
our nakedness robed, but unfettered.
Where the mental landscape’s redux
in all ways expresses fine moderation,
smoothing is a way for stream travels.
Where error is ruined by false images,
dance is rife on walls of Plato’s cavern.

No bonehead graybeard broken sod.
No character defines grace like that.
No good comes in whimsy of diversion
No greater feat strikes, save to a destiny.
No love shudders reverb without a beat
No life gains, born to chaotic mysteries.
No trick either to witness being present.

Essence of drama glorifies blindly dense.
Give me a hammer to pound on hollow
what word humbles the solid of masses
into backdoor hollow swinging forward?
A worst cost is my being ideal of whimsy
having to believe will steel a great irony.

© 7/18/2004, RJDuberg