Saturday, August 15, 2009


This circle bleeds without an edge
As sanity deprived of thought
These fingers grasp a shifting ledge
Of ice
Of melting frost
Of one blank page without a plot

This drifting orb of silence dwells
As a finger brushed ‘cross lips
Froth of enmity laps darkened swells
Of lies
Of broken truths
The blank page folds and rips

These nails of darkened earth reside
Blind as mountains’ sight that’s felt
Resigned that autumn’s leaves confide
Of loss
Of memory thawed
This page lies smote by snow’s first melt

Creaking leather aches, recalls
Bones of dusty corpse of earth
In shrouded cloud, a roiling pall
Of love
Of burning love
The page there smolders in broken hearth

When read again, one line remains
A line, no thought, and only pain.


Nikhil said...

Where in the world are u getting all this stuff ??

I feel like I'm light years away in a different direction with no way of coming back

Christopher said...

Writer's Block and Painful Betrayals.

I like the parallel.

Write more; love more!