The Elasticity of Love.
wildly cacophonous soulscapes,
all the while as truth slips through the cracks,
on time's wrinkled face.
How easy it is to sew the heart up,
extinguishing the embers crackling in a soul,
dousing the fires of yearning when memories bubble up.
How hard to euthanise such fickle whispers,
cremating unburnt passages of loose-leaf verse,
delving deep into a core once pure, and now rotten.
ignoring plaintive cries,
sewing up the cocoon,
I want to rest in dead space,
slip inside private nightmares,
awakening long dormant fears,
eliciting a flood of tears,
find that belonging,
not much, merely a trace,
in a far-off inaccessible place.