Conform by Euan Lindsay Oct14


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Conform by Euan Lindsay

In this, the grove of contentment

There’s a corner tranquil.


Here’s escape from remorse

To serenity;  Equanimity


Patrols the air, the grove –

It attacks any invading senses with

Blitzkrieg –

And placid in the corner lies

Our patch of stolidity.

Ataraxia coats the grass


In it there stands a lone, dead rose


Its wilted stem beautifies

The circular circumference

The gentle crack of petals grey;

The solemn breeze casts

Shatters of difference

All over the garden of indifference.


A thunderous footstep interrupts

The neutrality of bliss existing

Between both dead and living organisms

Growing louder and louder, closer and closer.


In one fleet downward gesture the rose is crushed

Under a boot of conformity.


All remains of the renegade lie atop the floor, dead;

The garden now stands