A wellspring of inspiration.
The rake of calloused palm against worn, sallow face; the loom of perfume on handkerchief lace
The dither of moonlight illuming the grey; the noir from afar to a time cast away
The burning eyes cooled by drying of tears; the sleeve used to grieve before anyone hears
The venom overheard by the children at play; the words that assure through the mind’s disarray
The throbbing, red lip with a taste of fresh blood; the blame, and the shame, and the memory flood
The shattered glass soul and phyche near rend; the long to go on, but a lust for the end
art: Pendulum by Margarita Georgiadis