|Old Painting by John Bonanno|
All will be hidden before all is lost,
No metal machine can compute the cost.
But golden buds upon the snow,
Shall light that whitened night aglow.
A desk in a drawer shall the demons be,
In negative twist for eternity.
Considering discipline, doctrine, law...
Based on their premise which precludes any flaw.
But I must escape on the stony path,
'Though this will raise the demons' wrath.
And quicken the molten center of the earth,
As a chick in an egg before its birth.
A man who sleeps in fits am I,
Who shall awaken when I die.
What comfort therefore can I give,
To one who merely wants to live?