Form: Free Verse
She wept as a bride sat on the edge of winds,
her senses raw to emotional dreams.
Her mouth quenched by bitter tragedy,
the sweetness of lemons would have kinder taste.
Her eyes see clearly the blurring figures,
illusions of reality quest in her mind.
The scent clouds of burning ice and fire,
tremble as she inhales in sobs of hunger.
Her fingers grip in futility of a gesture
grasping the strands of the nothing that remains.
The anguished screams making music in her ears
melodious cries formed in the heaving light.
Pubescent energies foretell of the will to be
in a world of contradiction and strife.
Entrapped by the senses and deprivation
a web of perception in fantasy's realm