These be the doors

to where it ends,

Sister Rose and her omnipresent

thorns scratch cataclysms into skin

Benevolence begat the violence

inconsequential, this monolithic cross

to bear, to bare sunstarved soul upon canvas

it is the reticence, the fear that binds

oh and the chill, blue as the ice of mighty Titan

formed from things colder than any winter storm

the arrogance, the insistence, tugging the lines

that pull the mind into the spaces below

tresses of vines being insular, the convocation of isolation

little by little, bit by bit, steer the ship a bit further

from the shore and the homes and the laughter

wont to want the failings that seed the salty seas, stars

esoteric panorama of breaking, delving into the core

a place never once should be breached, like the heart

of a deer running through full meadow in ripened fall

beauty in motion always falls…