Squandered Scarp

A slide in waiting requires 
a moving body, a scampering thought
to endure its purpose: a bottom above
and itself below.

Defenses with hill fences 
hallow the terrain
and arts with wars
hold the conviction
that stands a mountain
on topography's plane.

a pause rends the chance
for sureness
for pureness
for a sway in a direction
without recourse to return.

Can I can my mind
with a certain seal
a wax without paper
a writing without 
assay or ungainly words?

Answers come easy 
when action comes short
while wisdom's remonstrations
are a pity's retort.

It's thus, 
in a candle's fervor
I'm wax,
while a flame feels nearby
but not yet a part of my schtick. 

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