As if obeying an unwritten law of doom,
I slowly raise my head from its stupor,
as if somehow my eyes might meet yours,
the weight of raising it saps all strength,
making weary the bones,
so here I sit in my quilted chair,
reciting dark verse and listening to the single chords
of a disenchanted violin,
trying to fit together the wrong shaped parts
of a cataclysmic jigsaw puzzle,
yearning for the light and shadows of my waning moon
as it drifts across the darkened shape of my window,
the cross shaped frame crucifying my soul,
yet within this sanctuary of mind,
all does seem calm and contented.