Slippage of Time

Linger here with me, where
voices of insanity swirl, within
 the whirlpool of a naked river.

 Where pine tar drips, like tears
from a bleeding conifer
torn asunder, by words
not intended to be spoken,
 
 Cries heard, of myself
 when I was young,
 trapped, in the vulnerability
 of a blossom, submerged
in wax.

Reaching high, where a cross
stitch pattern of lonely confusion
weaves it's way,  through
determination, etching out
promises  never kept

Promises of a breath, that
 smiles ripping sunshine
from the mouth,  of those
who are tormented by
cyclamen and columbine
twice dead.
 Set aside, in a cracked jar,
 within a field of withered
daisies

Linger here with me,
at the naked river where voices,
of insanity swirl in the whirlpool
of time.
 Slippage
 repeats itself, it's the cog
 that is worn,  or is that me,
that is me?