there is a small fire,
a flickering light,
akin to a firefly lost
in the cold mists of night,
shining bright where
my joy should be.

there is a deep well,
a profound darkness,
akin to a cavern flooded
with frigid dark waves
echoing eternally
to the sound of loneliness.

there is a lackluster wreckage,
a broken trireme,
akin to a kingly one
that sailed out of Ithaca,
bleeding memories through
a gashing wound.

there is a rhyme,
a shattered syllable,
akin to a muffled shout
that reverberated throughout
those splintered blinks
of a forlorn childhood...