The Clutch of Doubt
Within his nest of jealousy,
Snailed as tight as love,
The serpent broods through leaves of matter
And nurses wintry thoughts.
The dawn breaks all her promises
The set intends no pledge;
If stalk of spring drips muse of dew,
The coiler coins his bet.
If chinks of doubt expose his hold
If breath of cruel unwords his most
The space of pain is freedom’s turn
Unfleshing slough of grey-burned ghost.
~ @M@ ~