Momentary Serenity Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

Our ancestors imperfections
are terrified of allusions
that hymn indiscretions
suffocating the sufferers
collapsing the universe
dragging happiness down
and contentment out, in
the lapse of time it takes for
anticipation, and reason to
experience frost; and witness
a discordant taste of war…
this trepidation is but air to
all existence, and it, in itself
is a hoax; the confluence of
personal beauty, thin, scarred
and bound within complication…
You, have found breathing to be
merely, a momentary serenity.