Folding Inward Blackened Wreath

Desiccation upon glass heart

Hastily sprawling splinters

Streaking sullen surface

Spoils unearthed to whet the weary

Wilting as waters wage war

Washing the rue of the ravaged

Succumbing, this savage breast recoils

Deep into the soil of surrender

Layered, tenderly to mend

Slitting sights on set horizons

Errands nestle in nocturne’s numbing

Known fool to lair retreats

Viewed through shades of discontent

Comes unrelenting lack of reticence

Ambivalence wracks the senses

Folding inward blackened wreath

Reaching long to breach the onset

Blade unsheathed to greet its hour

Heaven’s heights elude embedding

Subdued by sights shed

Red with bloodlet blighting

Brought to light, beset to dimmer

Sink or swim on wavering whims

Begin anew the steadied sting

Barren as the blinded eye

of mind that would foresee such stars

Marred by ceremonious compliance

Author: Max Meunier

Feminist. Ailurophile. Musician. Poet. Human.

3 thoughts on “Folding Inward Blackened Wreath”

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