Headlong through the morning mist
The masquerading shadows wait
To take, to turn, to twine and twist
Such simple sights that now conflate.
Conflict. Confound. Conjoin. Confuse
Until the salted garden blooms.
Rusted roses in rows of twos
Bedeck and bedazzle the jilted grooms.
In the solace and sanctity
Of tangos bruised and broken.
Caught within our vanity
And all the truths unspoken.
Headlong through revolving door.
Into the nevermore.
Ever more and never less
Searching for the golden fleece.
Each plodded step creates regress.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Release.
© Brandewulf 2018
You can read more of Brandewulf’s work at Brandewijn Words.