Shards and Angles

The world at large is less by far

Than where the Angles meet

To spin a tale of avarice.

It is within the homely hearth

The story will unfold

In multitudinous dimensions.

Upon the loom of days

The nights are soon forgot

And magics that they wove

Remembered only as the woof

Our eager flesh soon warped.

The soul lives lives in parallels

At right angles to the mind;

Parallels that meet neither hypotenuse

Nor hypotheses. The insubstantial

Has no need of angles, right or left,

To take sharp changes in direction!

My heart has angles all its own

And with them builds the walls

That only those of sturdy stock

And firm beliefs can scale,

For I would hoard my precious self.

© Nyuka Anaïs Laurent   21.09.2010