Ernest Williamson III

Man, Boy, & The Engagement of Environment                           


pride is intrinsic
even the roses throw their scents
to the world
they recoil and fill their spaces with allure
likened to no ignorant babe
and the cusp of mastering death
is a beyond semblance
not because it is glaring with flame
for transcending prose
but because it rose from the roots
of the Belmont Tree
beneath the shackles and snares
colluding dark skin
as the poets and their dearth of balance
careens
the sea of readers
who nervously chop down
trees
with
no limbs
or stoma
to intercede
with
or
without
the logic 
betwixt
sense
and
scent