AtLast_[07]

>> Breath <<

Ghosts of seething rage unspent Reveal in winter's nip, Vented years of unseen tears Swallowed side by side with pride Exhumed from frozen grip As passions flare Across the lip.

Should inner weeping ever cease Could I, yet, thrive in inner peace? Or burn, instead of hell's increase?

Postured juxt of wet and fire Love seethe, steaming Kindled ire, Arrangement ripped in honor's name So better, wetter, to the flame.