Obscure

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.