Minutes measured, meaningless, mournful in repose,
scattered yet sequential; lined in shadowed rows,
holding on to memory, fastened tight to hope;
rejoicing in insanity; sucking horror’s toes.

Caul holds captive through the days and years,
wrapping close, substantive web of fears,
trapping taut the form of grappling mind;
dribbling sorrow’s milk as fate defined. 

Eyes of glass are hidden in the realm of thought,
sightless, seeing, rigid and distraught,
blinking icy screams through day and night;
madness twists frayed ribbon round hell’s light.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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