The Flaw

I encounter a shaky pause,

that, like a thief, plays a part

then, I blame destiny for this flaw-

whereupon jealousy may make us victim

of the end,

up-root the growing grasses and kill them

with no sympathy to mend them.

Also time, which makes shadow images of me

appear in your mind as enemies

that fight your patience for eternity

without the real nemesis to give them credit.

The worst! That silent air

Oh curse!

That rhythmic stare

Within the heart that pulsates like beating plates

That towered over us, ten miles high,

And fell before our eyes

In a failed attempt to make it right

A pounding chaos that ignites

the nimb-nimbl-numbing nerves

and softly chases bravery into a cave

to make that flaw's success

innate.