Smoke Grenade Poem by James Trusler

Life injects minds with haste too quick,
The feeling subsides to choose,
What the creative sponge will suck up today,
Like a vulture in the burning winds.

The deserts of my mind,
Prickled by the distaste for human integrity.

I'm arming my guilt with a smoke grenade,
Short fuse.
Pin released.

I hope that the echo beholds a rapture,
We all sought before the aftermath.
The endless conundrum of a sharp complexity,
And a beveled personality.

I'll gallop away on my horse,
To the mountains of beyond,
To the valleys yonder,
And envelop myself in elation.