Existential ache,
Visceral and immediate
Occludes all reason,
A fated Solitude.
The myth of dearth,
In prose retold
Retaining fictive resolve,
Tacitly confessed.
Ineluctable Torpor
Petitions my
Ardent supplications.
Present,
Beckoned in the dulcet
Confluence —
Beauty and affliction
Freshets of silence,
Redressing the fallow
Surface of my soul.

© 2016 W. S. Warner