THE WEB OF TIME

[emmanuel]

Caught up in the time grid.
Spitting metallic rhymes.
To volcanic resistant rhythms.
Earth quaked efficiency.
Envisaging birds flying on broken wings
Bracing break glass atmosphere,
With philosophic consciousness.
Phoenix being appeased with graceful ease.
This is not an accolade to escapade.
In clouded rage,
Dictator’s diction of life’s fiction,
Shrouded by reality’s nightmare of fear,
Edging, to end of time drawing near.
Planned commotion,
Spontaneous combustion,
Exploding points of view,
For controlling concealed mind.
Drained is my purpose.
Left is pure fantasy.
In combat with incumbent hypocrisy,
Fighting diminished eloquence,
Showered by my teardrops, falling like rain.
I, shall never refrain, but sustain,
As birds flying on broken wings,
With elegant ease,
Determined through the web of time's decrease.