The Era & the Wura
Every era has leaves like a book,
pages unto which verses undulate
with the desperation of an ocean.
Mortals are the letters woven by
a ginormous ink but vaunt like they
are the author of such stories.
Even *wura flows through the furnace
of fearsome fires to bring forth
flashes.
Morals are ease to our rough edges
foraying us into smooth, fine
imperishable luster.
As aftershock crumbs cluster
into fine shapes, twinkling stars
are for noble kings and queens:
So tell the world that I am a part
Of every plant & pebble
Of every mortal & moral
Of every gold & gilt.
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