Mort

Painfully. In the rolling tumult of the turbid waters

That pulse and flow between the crushing wall of stone and iron,

It freezes close and cradles pain between those sweet

Nurturing folds of icy remorse and heartbreaking disgust - disdain.

Lungs filling in the surge of blackening desire,

I wash away into that fateful frozen night and forget the pain

And pass on into that sanctimonious light.

Forgotten here. Fated to die in the lime of hated disregard.

It stings the wounds and cleanses soul and heart alike.

As all fades, flickers into burning pitch and ash of broken hopes.

Letting go, flying into bursts of quiet agrimony, lilies

Falling from above, closing in around the precious pause of fate.