Lesser Concerns

A dark woodgrained curl rests spiraled
Over the shoulder with a suppressed passion
That only a Mother could bear.

How tightly does each hair cling to another
Despite trailing years of sporadic growth?

All that has fallen together from birth
Has but dual fully died at the moment
Of its inception.

Death, not a moment alone
But a passage of time whereby destiny is determined
With the teeth of a material comb guided-
By the hand of Man.

Those hidden beneath layers
Remain soft and wealthy
With the utter security of darkness by another name.

O' how they tickle the nape with divine caress!
How they propogate and consume guilt-free!

But let us not concern ourselves with the charm of weaker beings.
It is time to speak of an end to old strands
When the dying fill the world with such stench,
When the hairs tangle and split reaching
Into lows of botched ecstacy-
When the bitter knots have freed themselves in acts of suicide,

It is given;
This in which was born next to that
Shall forever remain.