An admirable account,
Alluring vital events of yesteryear,
Percussed appreciated rhythms draw glorious hearts near.
Ricocheting off bricks,
Caressing frames,
Tickling stiles,
Fear now instilled by hands that reject speech destined for aspiring ears.
For them to feel a smile lessen and posture exhausted.
Lenses captured our failed attempts, yet, reflect who we truly are; who we hate to see.
Hands crumbling to a known defeat; inkblots our imperfections hold hopes to what we may say and to hold back from what we must.
Although we rolled around in all of the filth,
We disregard the red paint upon our palms.
The sight versus the drought,
Seeking complexities we knew nothing about.
But let us never forget,
Valuable breaths descend from jaws of children related to distant lands.
Perhaps, their melodies could release the remedy for shivering vacant hands
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