(...)

 
(…)

A despairing cry from out of my heart!
Demented by fears of what may not be,
I soon descried the thorn of light depart
As bloomed the dark of this death inside me.
What became of me, none perhaps can say,
For none have heard my cry beyond the walls
Of this quiet space where the lone flowers sway,
Resembling a grave, my spirit crawls.
None have heard of me since I screamed, “Mercy!”
Of winter stars of shadow—darkness gnaws
With (lightning upon my flesh endlessly),
The sickening frost of dreams never thaws.
Perhaps I remain there, in that quiet place,
Free from time and suffocating in space?

© 2021 Marten Hoyle