Roethke

A man rests at its side, both needing and fearing

It’s wrath. The same as the notion of love,

It’s shape is a devouring plague of color.

The bearing of soul and the promise of pain

Lies in its wake, always coiled, always hungry.

A man rests at its side, both needing and fearing.

Eyes of passion see only affection, bonds of embrace

Tremble in the night air, bittersweet as the velvet chocolate.

It’s shape is a devouring plague of color.

Cruelty cackles at the victims for the need of pumping

Blood laced with the burning cold fingers of death.

A man rests at its side, both needing and fearing.

Water retreats to the crying of scattering spiders

As the warm comes with soundless steps.

It’s shape is a devouring plague of color.

Irony at its core as the fuel for the turning wheel

Of mortality with no pity, no bounds, and no regret.

It’s shape is a devouring plague of color.

A man rests at its side, both needing and fearing.

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