Silent and staring at the blue lines on the white sheets,
are the sounded out synonyms for plight and an ill disease.
The rhetoric in writings were fixed in a ghost list,
fading lyrics for a story set inside.
Each command a delicate union between
faulter and function, fortune seeming expensive,
bought and paid with sunny days,
never needing instability in our art.
Attempts at noise in a safe state, our
gunned down and unglorious, forgotten
rage and nerves replaced with normal
and a balanced shape.
Learning to lace prose with a structured face
and governing tastes to replicate.
A collective sight will come, the battle becoming
a balance, action disoriented with an even brow, the
answers long coming and smiles their host.