The Deviant

BY DR. AGONSON

I run from the quiet in terror;
I cannot stand the noise
released from that deep well within me,
an unrepentant howl.

The mortar and brickwork surrounding,
this architect’s handcraft,
it fails in the due subjugation:
I’m less than what was planned.

I bow my knee again,
restricting my desire,
but buck at what is right;
I run into the night.

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