shadows whisper a name most familiar
set to song in the key of entropy
steadied strikes assail the mind’s doorway
each effort to answer met with lulling silence
our truths are not told in mere content alone
lest we have naught but a skeleton’s passage
implore as we might, as surely as we seek
a picture to placate our desolate dialogue
shall nary replace the toilsome turning
of pages not privy to prodding nor poring
a misbegotten narrative so begets
but is not soon forgotten
by seraphim stripped, a perilous play
for prismatic plumage portrayed
by peacock in prominent display
will waver in iridescent hues
defined by light cast from perspectives
as told by the heart that would seeketh
Max, or Not 