There is a uniqueness in this tune
That only the past rhythm dictates
With even the discordant tones
Dictating a shift in movement
I go down to the very center
The pin point that is the crux of all
I feel the slightest of pinches
Disappearing into thick outer walls
The word loss is lost in this maze
Of branched out fragments whirling
Forming a pattern but hardly ever
Falling into place on the ground
The identity of the pinch
Belongs to traitorous intentions
Debilitating and scarring
But one with shallow roots
A soothing salve is out of reach
I avail of sand-dictated medication
Veering off into the tangent sunrise
Licking and struggling but moving
