The tumult

There is the tumult and then there is the tide
Tide brings the source of silt along with the grit
Of foam of salt of earth of form of lost invocations.

There is the tumult and there there is the smoke
Smoke which wraps the heart of courage in billets
Of grass of dust of moist earth venting off time.

There is the tumult and then there is the wit
Wit that pokes the mill pokes the shadow pokes
The effervescence at three different shades of noon.

This entry was posted in Poetry.

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