Monday

Like wells my eyes pour forth a storm
no rhyme or reason speaks it -
No other soul can soon compare
and stirring still it seeks it -
like All the hand is reaching out
yet burnt upon the friction
is all desire that died in you
as if some evil fiction -

Consumed and trapped within the folds
within this weary weathered mind
is something that no one can touch
and something few could ever find
somehow you reached within that place
and pulled out something ne'er replaced
yet now its back, no one can see
the pearl of life that lives in me -