Battle Stance Balance

David Swanson

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.