The potency of greatness is concentrated
by your ability to bind soul to action.
By activating your body’s raw ingredients,
the reality around you begins to blend purity with reaction.
Reception of such morality is delicate and fragile.
Truth is dense and powerful, yet deceit is sly and agile.
In the war for mental health, belief in yourself,
combined with compassionate concern for the well-being of strangers,
will free the hatred trapped within your broken harmonica’s chambers.
Once liberated, your breathing will default back to beautiful.
For greatness is inert, perpetually irremovable.
About the Creator
Kale Sinclair
Author | Poet | Husband | Dog Dad | Nerd | Zen Practitioner
Find my published poetry, and short story books here!
Keep reading
More stories from Kale Sinclair and writers in Poets and other communities.
Upon waves' break
Staring blankly through savage waves, breaking upon worn jettied rocks. On tired tongue a salty taste, taunting spray portraits your face, In cursed thoughts, your voice mocks: "Be a man, real men don't break." Yet here stands "less than a man" poised atop crested wave. Turbulent undertows of mounted lies. Saltwater stings tear prickled eyes. Wash away by ferocious tide. Dragged out, adrift vast open ocean, Weathered driftwood, debris, discarded notions. Softly spoken lies echo through tortured mind's hell. Floating aimlessly at rhythmic water's swell. Day fades away with night, light brings day again. Cast upon discarded's land, silk fine grain white sand, Strewn together gifts of sea, randomly along the beach. Feelings return slowly, cracked open eyes. Sudden streak across the sky, fiery tail cuts black of night. Dissociation breaks to hope in light. Countless stars shine through space and time. Filling empty space..... in time.
By Ho-made media4 days ago in Poets
The Devil's Triangle
The sails ruffled in the breeze as we cruised along. The Sea Breeze was a mid-size catamaran that sailed out of Royal Naval Dockyard in Bermuda. We had booked this trip weeks in advance and were now looking at our Captain, Spike and two boat hands. Paddy and Wilson seemed like nice guys, joking around with the passengers and telling us some stories about Bermuda that only locals would know. Their island accents sounded almost British but they were pleasant to listen to.
By Barbara Gode Wiles7 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.