Soul fused of fire and ice
Feel its profound wrath blaze
Shadowing the glacial ground
Its mediocre close knit stare
No match for brisk ascending mist
Embers die a slow death
As raucous flames suddenly wither
Matching that of a shriveled rose
Saturation of it all
Like a thief amongst the darkest night
Flaws of perfection ever so eager 
To never be lost in transit
Incessant enigmatical tussle
Not even a beating heart
Could fathom the vast duel
Of any given moment

(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2022.

5 thoughts on “RIFT

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