the five finger rumble

i swung my fingers to the calling,
that i forget i am slapping a heart.

my fingers fall into the rumble of hatred,
that it wildly made its way.

and it landed on the yearn of a lover,
such omen of ill fated truth.

this perception of life as it lingers,
this harbinger of a lesson told.

the forward march of the five fingers,
the silent rhythm of its fold.

and before i realized the dance is over,
the horror had the winning shot.

- benard the jerryboy