By Tonny Wandella
Devious jitters jostle through a quiet jungle,
Marching through, and the lucid moment is half gone.
Now deep in chaos, a valued breath turns into a mortal dream.
Hurry, come and identify the ache; its form is ever-changing.
And once at a bruised end, there is an afternoon full of eerie stillness.
A cleaved and tired soul drifts on an angry sea.
Who is drowning? Is it the beloved hope or my tedious bones!
The humming within turns into throbs; whispers to sirens; in the end, virtues to vices.
The rain a time oozes out of the slobbered sky
And we are drenched with the spittle of its awe.
Forever, it clings to us like dew,
And the chill is liberating.
The frequency of moments brings along finite thoughts.
Some devour us, while some are like the peeking sunrise.
But it seems everything is beautifully blended with chaos and repose.
