All of Twelve

All of twelve -
uncorrupted, unformed,
she stands on tiptoe
and pushes against
the gates of Time.

Her skirt whirls -
she's a curly thought;
she is heard singing
by those who know (it).

Time's rendered 
but a tremble -
her feet are rhythm bound.

Who knows what she'd grow to be -
a sonnet, a ballad, verse profound?

Concrete

Labyrinthine,
the sky is debris and clouds -
a concrete greyness, life
shrouds
this being -

a being that had once
rebelled and donned a belt of stars -
shorn today of reasons
to sing -

dwells a death
in a merciless womb -

they'll do him a tomb,
concrete.

The Stone Bridge

I arch when touched
by a river -
a stone bridge, I cringe,
shiver -

the brook's music,
and I am riddled with beats -

to live a flute
and yet endeavour
flatness!

The monotony of
being walked upon!

I do not die.
They die.