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