You may refuse to recognize the feelings,

lying dormant just underneath....

exhaust the strife keeping reversion beneath;

What must be known,

words that which hold no strength shown,

if heart still folds under splendid bemoans;

There's much that is given upon the surface....

to grasp them,

scratch off layered rust,

dispose the berating whim;

Take not the forward route....

you have to see the inner parts left strewed about,

as though combined tiny bits together form from combusted gem,

the quiet mayhem.

���<.9<