Strands of Belief
We pluck fluffy balls of cotton from so many different plants, Having no idea, which would end up in towels, mops, and pants, But every tuft itself, shorn of identity, has no consequence to dread, Caring even less, that many
Ten Percent
Often, the stories we hear from unfortunate brothers are the same, Stories of loss, stories of failure to keep ahead in the game, Whatever their story, all that seems to change is the name, The rest is simply different shades,
Final Stand
Silently we sit, staring down at the menu on the table, The gaze is firm, but the mind is not yet stable, In one quick scoop, our hands desperately grab, Holding down the menu, I let my modesty take a