January 8, 2009

This body is shrouded in aches,
With the quiet blather of sunken souls.
Quite bothersome–
The constant swelling of sullen eyes,
So red with reprive–
And,
Feeling so divided
Some of the time.
The game of chance at odds
And ends with life
And Rhyme
And beauty,

Hideously supreme.
Devouring the lines of self-doubt–
Eradicating the battlements
Installed for such chance!
Overtaken not from opposing minions,
But the frigid of storms–
An eye from the North
Placating warmth in the folly of home.

This is not the first time
Walkways have been frozen over,
Permitting only the precautions.
But it has been quite awhile
Since the glare of clouds
Has sealed these eyelids.

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