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AT BLACKWOOD'S EDGE

 
Of teak and torpor, caged
Behind the one-way oculus
Of a dust curtained vantage
Is the self I loathe to trust


And her ghost was his keeper
That fluid hand on his shoulder
Was never truly felt, until dried


And in the light just below the lintel
From this stained glass prison
Colours the rain that never fell
Upon misericord impressions


But what is it you yearn for?
But a window, or an open door?


Upon the rocks, beneath the shade
At Blackwood's Edge, a debt was paid


Those black strands, like tendrils
Flowing outward from the supine
In malefic arms intertwined
The silhouette of inhibition, mine


Our hands could never meet
As far as I reached...
A rosary she held to her heart
She knew that toil from its start


And thousands of wordless pages
Cast from salt accretion
As another chapter rests
Between polyvinyl lips
And varicose verses


Another huffed yesterday
For an exhaled continuity
Substance-bridged connections
An armamentarium deception


It was not my intent...
To waste passion on neglect
Like laudanum and ambergris
It's safety that I couldn't give


At Blackwood's Edge, we held the truth
In bloodied hands, our stolen youth
Cruel fate, that we'd lost our way
To cherish what remains today
UbiquitousVoid
Written by UbiquitousVoid
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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