ISSN: 1705-6411
Volume 6, Number 1 (January, 2009)
Author: Christopher Peyton Miller

it is ineffable that science which delineates such transience
like putting on a hairshirt, fathoming disparity, despairing in trial
it once rose from the dirt measuring the affliction, meting out exactness
like a pungence which can flirt by wringing the meaning out of craving

it shall be ever sundered that mirror which is a mirage, a disguise
like a reflection of a blunder from which one cannot recover
it once gave weight to waiting notions of brilliances pure
like delving into flagrance or negligence without an hesitation

it cannot be at once an immanence of warmth and have a shredded essence
like a paling wintered divulgence letting by the glassy fire
it once rose up to salvage from defeat a nescient mewl floating upward
like timely fjords for tatters winding in this chink, this trace

it draws down gnarling what is stranded in its gestalt, which is ample
like an overlong machination leaning never toward belief in paltry penitence
it bares squishy any attempt to draw upon its fortune and depth
like the fickle tendon joining cognizance to credulity, oh innocence

it has always fallen but not abut, consigning us to such a lot
like an ogre’s weight which when canceled leaves such an imprint
it is up to meagerness and yearning forthright to stall this bleak infiltration
like calculated verbiage and gathered deductions giving way to bodily curiosities

it offers a potion of cramp and ditty of what arises naturally from pith and ether
like the intangible onslaught whence presses forward clods and clay and corrupt extremities

it cannot be untangled that grimy remiss which dangles within each duration
like a gloom braved when the very fallible is stared at with deference
it is a shame that blankness summons such solemnity disclosing profanity in pantheon
like the innocuous eminence in the clenching engendered to each anguished fledgling
it is fraudulent to admit this clarity in a hollowness which folds into such a neat stash
like a forged calling does this hallowed bleakness yield such surety for the bumbling

when will the fullness come, the transcendence which flitters not nor falls?
it will be more than a rash dismissal of sentiment replaced with bulk and ceremony
when the sky literally cracks and glare jettisons the firmness which his heirs have buried
it has to swallow and permeate, leaving an effect mightily dwarfing its ill felt presence

when will the chronic tangibility crash upon the smug whispers of some non-duality ?
it is sure that such a stun would intimidate enlightenment into an untraceable distress
when will the sputtering and sabotage give out their tireless toss ever exhausted and drastic ?
it is a feeling of clawing tactility, a trope of vagrant conviction smitten by each instinct

when the fulfillment is disclosed, the slipping between tear and glow will nag with regret
it will cost futile rage from which the complexity arose and the authentic impression fluxes
when any attempt at closure wanes, it is due to fear that barrenness will return in full swell
it is the collapse of chorus and lyrics which was the cradle and completion of this inanity

when the bidding results from that final scurry, will stupidity and frivolity cover grief ?
it is a tautology once disassembled giving logic for both its vulnerability and resurrected form
when glances come now it requires an ineptness that lingers through deadened limbs
it shall ever attract a somberness springing on an unwary and gruelingly suspicious savant

when all thoughts halt, and emotions still, to bring a state of unrelenting blessedness
it will be as a psychotic purge that jumps those who ignore its possible and unseemly result
when in spite of stilted arrogance the staggering event consumes with razing thickness
it is pitied that movement is vain without the relenting of this undesired reluctant mass

when giddiness requires dementia, where fury aims at the ground from which it flows
it is an oceanic incursion, which seeks to balance the very source of insolent waves
when will the regress to synchronous sensations come, the allure that animates the page
it will be that delicate fervor which embodies each sensation with its changing grace

when will the severity and dispute inflicted endlessly upon every inkling cease ?
it is a negligible slaughter of both intellect and tenor, a likely result of wretchedness
when comes the dreaded restoration by pity’s graceful persuasion, chagrin
it will all seem a journey disguising itself as faltering calm and calamity

About the Author
Christopher Peyton Miller holds two Masters degrees and is currently completing a Certificate in Advanced Studies at Hollins University Roanoke, Virginia.