I acknowledge all things made by human
hands contain poetry, no matter how rife
with violence, cloaked in ugliness, or hidden
in the depths of a hatred which seems to indicate
nothing beyond mindless bigotry, yet contains—
within chaotic rage, madness, shamefully perfunctory
patterns of self-perpetuating crimes against humanity—
a form of organic meaning,
some sense of relationship—
existence in reference to other.
Inspired by The Weekend Wordsmith.
2 comments:
You made beauty out of that growing graph! Thanks.
the poem is quite beautiful indeed. how you were able to create this out of that is incredible! wow....
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