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Ocelot's Poetry and Songs

	Pulse
	a quickened pulse gives no regard to quiet solace: interred - barred active, garish, running, rushing quells the quiet act of hushing onward pushed, impulsive choices fail to still the harried voices panic now - the pulse beats faster Work to see the peace hereafter now a blur, no time for thought still the pain of speed not caught fleeting fancies - pulse indulges now collapse amidst the bulges now collapse the shell unable to attain the great One's table finally - as drive recedes hear the wisdom silence breathes.
Kevin Metcalf
1999