The other side of fruition

The finality is static, composed

Without a flapping, twirling, swerve

And the eyes look accomplished

As moments pass into anther moment

 

Life or the momentary gasp of everything

Inches into fruition

Filling the brims of conscience

Stepping from the likelihood

Of everything that got me empty in the first place

In my dreams and outside

The grill could not resist the pressures of agony

 

A small boy is waiting on the curve

Where some straight talking left him askance

Is there a purpose

Or the purpose must be to keep peeling

Till the restive account will wither

The inside of every root

 

Someone cried, an agent stood up

An act of business waited for a moment

Not for profit, the day cast a shadow where the wall

Had been shifted

Not drum beats, just conch shells

Blew some moments away

As the eyes looked accomplished