Poetry

A gem cutter 
takes a pause 
and finds the hate of a locked house. 
 
The words scream 
and hurl a propensity for violence 
becoming an aphorism. 
 
A pithy precipitation 
was delayed. The seeds in desert 
will not be able to catch the light. 
 
I am still lonely 
making peace with rain of arrows 
coming from nowhere.