When horrific past memories crawl in, at the dense of the night, through the window of my mind

and play hide and seek in mind's yard like teenagers in love for the first time.

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When days become gloomy, skies rain grief with glee and canaries chirp the chord of dread.

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When the earth quivers like a rattle snake, as I tread her back,
and the sun shines only for ignominy and the moon only glint to celebrate my grieve.

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When life taunts and pricks like a needle at my bliss, when life becomes a labyrinth,
a vortex blessed with blissful anguish and a brazen bone to the throat.

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With metaphors, and with simile, and with paradox, I weave like a weaver bird;
a roost thatched with poetry.