the heat of tension is getting away

the beat of clocking days has taken the bow

of conflict we know little for spoken words are a vine

dancing at ease by the river door: we listen, taken at the arm

at length we look afar and wide, never, at one another

eating crumbs bespoken, quietly, everyday feels exactly that

no, it was not my comprehension I hiss 

but who has ever asked for my permission? 

a golden chance has flown out of bounds

crashing at the barrier of my fringed reasoning

kept in chains, never far away

it is not that I do not wish to speak

I find myself contradicted for I have nothing left to say:

"No way divides the victim (It rips away)

I didn't ask for your permission (We connect with something anyway)"