Life teeters on a fulcrum between melody and madness.
A confection of chaos and glory stuck between the teeth.
Some salvage old kisses from love’s graveyard and polish them anew, while others rub hate and lies into wounds and call it medicine.
Walking the world’s streets, you can feel the mixed-message braille of broken glass and heads-up pennies beneath your feet.
A bullet here, a bouquet of laughter there.
This life, a teetering between melody and madness.
You can feel it in each new earthquake and bomb blast.
Yet even in the most violent moments when grace dies, its hair refuses to stop growing.
RichRant 