Dear Reader

There’s always going to be
Strange syllables of stories that
You can lose your sadness in, and
Paragraphs of prose to postpone your
Perplexity with the people you
Surround yourself with, and
There are verses and lines and
Poems that can engulf you with
Words, but Dear Reader, there
Will always be sounds which will
Echo your thoughts, and which will
Flood you with memories, and
Sometimes, those syllables will
Roll of your tongue, and
Suddenly, the stories will not
Seem so strange anymore, the
Gates of fiction and fantasy will
Open, and you will find reality in
The poetry of escapism.

The Unbecoming

Sometimes, although very rarely, the
Universe collapses into itself, in a
Strange, seemingly harmless combustion of
Air and nothingness, and the trees and
Flowers disappear into the spaces between
The grass, and the people, going about their
Daily routine, suddenly freeze in well-timed,
Spontaneous seconds of frenzy, and all the
Words and letters curve their backs and
Lean against themselves, until the gears of
The universe begin to move again, and soon, the
Trees and flowers appear from underneath the
Grass, and the people begin to walk home as if
Nothing had really changed, and all the
Words and letters stand upright, waiting to be
Smeared with ink and vulnerability.