A pitch black blanket of unwound strands
Lays splayed before broken words in impotent rage
Breathing ragged against a winter window
Mirrors outlined in dark silk mock all they reflect
And tell no truths in their unwashed humor
But smile like cats eyes at the moon
A four chambered cavern sits sealed in frozen stone
With faded cave paintings raving in the dark
Hinting at old fires that burned
Simmering thinly and frail beneath a calm front
A snap on the edge of the cusp is only a
Sudden strike away and expecting the spark
So the frail crescent scratched in sand fails its promise
And gives away all it said it stood for
In the name of some sad joke