With all stones cast
There’s a pot still boiling
And a kettle left black
There’s a house still standing
With thinly cracked glass
There’s a kink in the line
With a reel still intact
There’s a spell in the ether
Waiting to be cast
With all stones thrown
There’s a hole full of flesh
There’s a crack in the arrow
There’s an angry protest
Each body a story, color, and time
Each arrow head sharpened, pristine, and divine
Each voice becomes voiceless, estranged, and unkind
With all stones turned
There lies not a soul
The truth is but squalor
Results are annulled
In a garden of daisies
Rest youthful and old
A graveyard of rubble
for silver and gold?
Words Of An Average White Male 