The Frayed Line

Courtesy: Pixabay
Courtesy: Pixabay
soul bowed,
ice falling as rain,
drizzling eyes,
they shimmered
as streetlights on the pavement.

Where to go
when there was nowhere to go?
Who to trust
when trusting
was dying
before it could be said
there was life?

Veins rich
with dysphoric poison,
the line to congruence
running from nowhere,
knowing it was a line that must be walked.

©January 2018, January 2022
Christina Anne Hawthorne

About Christina Anne Hawthorne

Alive and well in the Rocky Mountains. I'm a fantasy writer who also dabbles in poetry, short stories, and map making. My Ontyre tales are an alternative fantasy experience, the stories rich in mystery, adventure, and romance. Alternative fantasy? Not quite steampunk. Not quite gothic. In truth, the real magic is in those who discover what's within.
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