a years worth of poetry

disparity

this disparity is fleeting
if not growing tis ever apparent
as i sit in and stare out
of my eyes into those lights
which dazzle audience to sighs
aside from mine which only
breathes blind unto hot rage
which somehow cooly lingers
within my stomach and unlike
the witches boiling vat there's
no acid to counteract my
base feeling of empty begat
rage