Expression Poem by Edwin Xander

The writer's verse, the fighter's curse.
The aped imitation,
The staggering ovation,
The insidious individuality of communal spirituality,
Are these the words you spell?

Join together ideas linked through thought,
The piercing intelligence of despised litigants,
Or the simple heartfelt wish that
'it will all be all right.
It will. It will be all right.'

Musical learners, intellectual perverts,
Twisted on the curled scythes of iron gates
With the books in their hands, with the fat drooping lardlike off their canine jowls...
And see, see! Here is the keeper of your fate.
The keeper of the letters,
The letters that spell out
Four years of life,
Four years of sweat, tears, hope.

The letters of a symphony rendered discordant
By softened hissing of the hideous consonant.

Refine. Refine. Your mind is a mine,
A derrick in a dry desert stumbled upon by savages
Who will fall upon your wholeness with a moan, ravages,
Your pristine volume circular and vivid
Cracked by a black ax at last.