With perspectives changed
and obscurity transparent,
and shrouds of light, and darkness made
bent, when man ceases to find
meaning in petty movements of
men, one meets horror in
simple places.

Imagine:
with coffee, in parking lot, I sit all alone
with book in hand and the hum of engines
all around. To my vexation,
I hear the horrid sound:
the one that divests the world
of humble thoughts, the one
of disillusioning, the sound that
will take one to death.

The terse drumming my ears can barely bear,
and, much to my disdain, I am to learn
that I am yet to be a saint, for the sound is
of my heart and also of my bane.