Of clamshelled stones as the current hits,

Knocking and so foresaid the lightning speaks,

Waving and wading,

The shimmering swords of the great blue,

Encrusts their everyready dagger sycophants,

To please and amuse, for distrust and doubt .

To lay admist them in their ploy of demolition,

And to scatter to shun the incitement,

A yearning gasp unleashed, long and overdue

It awakens to bethinks its' presence .

The chaw of rage nips at the feet of fury,

In this absinthal state of cloying discourse.

I know,

The intensities constants the lethargy,

Lethargy of the habitual opulence,

Leavens the creed of your spasmodic nod .

Not the stone, but the shell .