Strike a line across the spheres
Of pensive mem’ry trapped in tears
Lighted flames of darkest night
Think one wise and lose all sight

Clockwork hands on face constrained
A thousand summers burned in pain
Laughter now sardonic grins
The painted lady trades in sins

Spinning tales of fates recast
Eyes of lovers haunt days past
Turn the light, reflect the loss
The wage a fiction, the coin a toss

A prosody of dreams drawn dry
Stream across a mocking sky
Dusty windows parallaxed
Broken sonnets bear the cracks

Breathe and let the songbird pine
Of mislaid virtue, deep in brine
'Twas not the reason the tempest sings?
We're given seasons, but lacking time

Spheres of Pain

© 2020 Bob Lee