A Clan All Its Own
By Peter Scott
In the echoing solitude
Shifting silence
Leads to a sustained realization
Of direction
Spanning the width of understanding
And the depth of experience
Homeland has been spotted afar
Deeper to the heart
Thereby natural
Without regrets for
A transmission of paradigms
Living unique
Heralds diversityıs recognition
At the price of understanding
Novelty never attempted to express
Rejected by confusion
It assumed the game was long—
Ad infinitum
Increasing the chances
Of injurious duty
Until one day a success
Novelty comprehended
Rituals and duty
Love was starved to a hunger
And so it wept
For days
Taking consolation in individuality
Basking in self pity
Whilst affronting sorrow with its own hand
Bleeding quicker
Never time to heal
Until it died
Then Novelty—
Or the guise no longer here
Walked the world of empty streets
Barren towns
Colored in black and white
And gray
Red nor pink near the eye to see
Lounged in pensive anticipation for
The event
A great meeting of souls
Devoid of all preference
For Novelty—
Or the guise noticed no longer
Thought there were none
When in fact
The gray land was its home
The former guise—
Known as Novelty
Uniqueness and Individuality
Sacrificed its whole
But now found itself
A part of the whole.
