Written June 26, 2019

There is nothing more elusive
than stretched shackles 
darkened
by the stubborn determination 
that sprouts in recurring
vines.

But the chains are forged from
biotic fractals
And the leaves are wrought of
mud encrusted iron
dirtied by Time
whose very hands
stretch across the Universe
in broad 
and deceiving 
caresses.

The lies are smothered in a bed
of tenderness.

And still the beat rolls on
its waves spiraling into the 
monotonous eternity
that is preserved by the corridors
of ignorant ecstasy and uninhibited
Brilliance

Still it is strangled in the inviting clutches 
of raw perception.

Willow of Thought © Safira Schiowitz