Homeostasis

 On the horizon

electrical impulses

move through meridians

cooling to obsidian

from molten lava

and ashes to wings

fit now to sing

a song of sweet array

not of the kitschy kind,

all of an itchy kind

like a niacin flush,

an unpleasant gush

induced for good.

Removed is the hood,

and now the wind blows

on ears shy to cold.

Though the breeze is but fair,

if one does dare

to raise their head

to awaken from dead

to look into the sun,

then freedom’s been won,

and so lies before

peace past the war

on the horizon

deep to the core.

It is beauty's basis,

not just an oasis.

It’s back from space,

and it’s homeostasis.


2012


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