Seasons

Somewhat scarred, pricked and kneaded; and furnace flame—
A writhing soul; and why the waves—a rinse of grief; and
Why the joy—a week of peace; and sullen souls—harvest
Pain; and must revive—a fantast flame; and fallen star—a

Southern cry: a hallowed tear: a bleeding sky; and cryptic rain,
A beating wound—the drum of hearts: a mind to swoon; and
Live the life—a life to live: an inward curve: the verve of
Sin. My dearest dove—I must confess: the waves of love—the

Days of death; and whirl to wind—the wind of whirl: a den
Of flame—ashamed to hurl; and such the light—a subtle sore:
A torrent joy: deployed for more; and silver grey—the deepest
Pain: a cycle thin—the grin of shame; and feel remorse—and
Plead the right; and die the grit—the writ of life; and cloak to
Mind, a moment’s rest: a haunted dream: a Colic flex.