Poem-A-Day: Day 562

Cycle 12

The whole concept, the whole aim
marched in single files
one after the other over under white;
screams and rhythmic patterns tapped,
danced into the night and up a stair,
some case in point that rendered files useless;
the useless grasp of grasping at straws
left reflections rejected, splashed on bliss blown
     dread.