Swirls | {Poems}

writer's block

            

No one saw it as an art

form. Just worthless pieces of 

parabola lines.

But, there was something hidden

beneath the pressure, the gray and

wide of the lines were like cries

for help in an exponential ocean.

No one detects there is a bother,

the equation isn't formulating

out to solve for x. Except me, I

can hear the high pitch whimper

of the person. I glaze at the simple

deeply pressed segments. I can hear

deep breathing of the person,

The tears strokes down their cheeks,

clear wet paint, as they continue slashing 

on the innocent pages. Destruction

and mayhem, the gnashing of teeth, cracked 

and popped, the bird like the hand flies

across the blemished page. Rusty chains

decay, the hand drifts off to new realms.