Vines of persistence
wrap around
to squeeze
me tightly,
choking and cloaking
my existence from the divine
shining light streams.

From the depths
of what I have left,
I leave thee
this sublime kindly
writing, to let
it be told
over to you that I fear
this nadir confining
so inviting. For that which
was a welcome
embrace has become
a peril that I find
frightening.

An irascible
beast tears me away
from my rapture, it's claws
ripping in their tightening.

Good Knight!        I scream.

Virago, you must let me go!

Don't you know
these roots hold
me here and try to imprison
my very soul?
Are you aware that
I've always been
restless in this deed ,
at least until my
movement ceased, grown
weary by the cold?

Oh, to be as a tree petrified a thousand
years ago. Yes, tenfold of a deep century ago.

What woe!      What woe!

Well then, just consume me, it's thy selfish
need to grow, despite what it means to me,
a descent into a place so low; and you know,
even tho it's cold, viscous words can burn
like an internal sea of hellish fire: pain
overwhelms me, but a morbid curiosity
still fans this desire.

God, save me from the mire!
                      God, let her have remorse!

Soon tentacles will protrude
into my wan corpse
-pulling me into a crevasse-
which is a pit in the fabric that my
body no sooner than distorts; and as
swift as this with a vacuous kiss
you'll steal my mass,
as brains for one will
become
the main course.