When Wicked Winds Weather The fortress built around the persona, Eroded Freedoms, Intuitions thought twice, Hesitated streams of consciousness, Interrupted to begin, Until the withering walls can be reconstructed again and again, The eventual blueprint reveals the multi-faced gem. But, Oh, what a struggle! A many-round battle! Repairing of the Ladder, Climbing the ridge with backward feet. But doesn’t the view justify lost breaths? One could only wonder how there’s any strength left. Time is compressing, Will you stare straight into a mirror of regret?

When Wicked Winds are funneled into man-made contraptions, If systems are mimicked to capture the essence – A once destructive erosion of virtues and freedoms Could be redirected to define the Age.

Is it not ironic that we have squandered all notions of a matriarchal existence at a time when our Mother’s milks are running low? And true to the fervors of young, red-blooded patriarchs, we kill over spilled milk. A feasible feast when a Giant amongst a miniscule Pharisee. Making mincemeat of evil and spoon-feeding it as ice cream through glowing TV’s. Please! As so many before us, few stand out to ponder, the robust behavior of those petite thinkers, Who pass off documentation from a guilty bystander as a meaningless waste of long fought for freedoms. But little forgotten, their hateful maneuvers ensure their future impotence….just when it’s needed in post-Millennial chaos. Erasing all misuses that have crept into the natural language, systems will survive with or without compromise, but still pose the question:

When Wicked Winds Weather the minds of great thinkers who have traded in cool grass blades for slabs of cold concrete between their toes, Will you be willing to face the critics alone?

© 2003 J.D. Cravens