Ouch. Acedia

Ouch. Poem.jpg

Faraway forgotten weeds,

their tendrils in a wasteland

of spectral hope

seek faith to confront the fear

which plays a game of ‘touch and go’

in each brave spirit that yearns

to go into eternal blue

which is only a harps plaintive chord away

immune to loss or gain

In the mirror’s bruised image, a face leaks images of crime

or rapture, though each is a personal view

 erected on a line we perceive as infinity

And so, inertia rankles in that sumptuous dilemma

arrested in pursuit

of the furthest, spreading,

ache of blue.

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