The World Is a Comma Rhyme ‘twixt reason and truth ‘twixt treason Lies within honesty and farming off-season Greatnesses small and minutiae lot Masters of all with knowledge of naught The facts of life are found in great fiction And the greatest speakers often lack diction Cooling the air just moves the heat And winning one fight means later defeat All empires claim that they won’t fall ever But we all know they can’t last forever All systems break and all systems crumble All fortifications succumb to the rumble Time takes all and yet more it makes Glaciers today, tomorrow are lakes Volcanoes destroy, yet they fertilize the earth And the richest men feel no self-worth Rivers grow and deltas thin The underdog is destined to win Fires can be doused but water not burned, Just heated and heated ‘til to steam it is turned Whats become whos and whos become whys He who never fails as well never tries A detective might find not a single clue While happenstance brings one right out of the blue Why is life free when it too can be lost? Why has it that burden, that terrible cost? The quintessential question is the meaning of life The goodness and joy amidst all the strife Sentences end in a full stop But the world is a comma, And the bottom of the circle soon becomes the top...
Ode to the Painter often I envision a stunning scene of trees or a dreamlike substance to a world at the seams or a terror in the night beyond the human scope or a battle of the blade, where steel may elope all this and more I try to capture with my tongue and pen but words are laughable in the face of what has been expressed by the brush and palette in the painter’s hands for our mind is less than our senses demand with the mind we speak and write about emotion mere words can sink and float the mighty ocean but the planet only turns in response to creation the planet only turns by the artist’s declaration no metaphor could accurately describe the sky that a painter creates with hand and eye no verse could parse the complex scenery nor the artist’s grasp of sprawling greenery words are small and that’s okay but for a moment in the night or day take a breath to see wonders old and new take a breath and witness marvels through and through
Byron López Ellington is an 18-year-old mestizo writer. He loves bread and cheese and loves his cats even more (for different reasons). Starting fall 2022, he is a student of creative writing and Spanish at the University of Iowa. You can find more of his work at byronlopezellington.com.
Grand Little Things 