The lonely heart lies estranged
in its own spun web.

Coldness, on unshrinking
shoulders of gloom,
crowds out other, unwanted feelings -
fear and doubt, bumping, blending
with other dark shadows.

The silent mouth
numbly opens to scream
and blankness rolls out,
a thick fog, unheeding of itself,
smoke in the wind.

The lonely heart lies estranged
in its own spun web,
of detached, tarnished silver webs,
lost in itself.
And yet, it seeks.
Reaching out, to bind itself
to a fat moment
that is quick and alive.

 

Copyrighted by Lawrence Swyfte 2003

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