Scream

Pierce,
  the embrace
Anticipated,
               Springboard
                  In,
A quiver
Of white light's
                     arrows.
Scream,
  as the eagle
                speaks in tongues
To the sun.
Folded three thousand sword blades
          On track
Conferred in caves
                and pastures,
The conditions
hard.
           But I am not  wise enough
A poet
         begging,
art is the road
                     of the creator,
to his masterpiece,
                            and I shall scream
my thoughts,
                    into alternate 
existences,
                for the ineffable,
has me
       by the balls....

Tony Taylor