bliss it was not to be born
this world wanting
all other things taunting
the nothingness invading
the dailiness betraying
time at a standstill of history
all wit in the evil of the ingenious
the charm gone out of innocence
the little girls blissless in glazed ads
wisdom too wordy
garbled hypocrisy
inefficiencies of thought inevitable
among the deficiencies of fate
folly in its frankness
characterless cities of blunt glass
faces frozen in transparency
sinking into its shallows
flat stones leaving no dent in the surface
the senses worn out
no longer even skimming the shadows
being blurred
beyond recognition
no quick to cut to
grace at a loss
wonder no longer the whetstone
eyes feral as death
pampered tears broken
on the stunned silence