Venom and Tonic

Could I not give you meandering springs

As days grow ever old.

Wouldn’t I give you glorious things

To keep you from the cold.

The time, grown tepid, tries to divulge

Meaning from my dreaming.

It intrigues, caresses in hopes I’ll indulge

In it’s vapid perpetual scheming.

My mind sits in stalemate, it’s walls failing slowly,

Diminishing in it’s erosion.

It splutters and gasps at the thin braille of glass

That hold key to my soul’s emotion.

The itching and twitching of venomous snakes

Devour my sense of hearing

In grim and malevolent consternation,

As fires that glow in their searing.

And though I must listen to tortuous snakes,

I never will let them control me

For I am a person and that person’s myself

And my soul will forever stay free.