{poem} impassive sentiments

I fear not the only deepening madness that creep between the crooked halls,

But the passion that slips through the spaces within binding fingers, a unforgiving silk that slides behind your mind as if it flows within the colours of a different course of wind and sky

And not knowing why, 

It’s snake of doubt spun a serpent 

Of sea and land and sky and mine

But lost to unknown spiders 

Thy internal  cobwebs collide

And left am I, 

Not one nor one hundred spiders

Secrets confide

A skull of empty veins obside

Mine own ribbon burst to flame of grey and violently beige worlds divide 

To nothing much of so much more

Not one drop of undying serpents blood, 

Do fall from the drying clouds of lands unfounded 

By guilt and shame and self-blame to 

Slithers of  doubt of the disgust, that witches wrath to warlocks curse

Do not try to unwind the shoelaces of inexpressible prison walls bound with a spell of impassive brutality veiled by a thinly sheared voice of mutely hanging letters over the disorienting array of constellations divine         It does not materialise behind shining stones that burn too fast,and therefore does not matter behind unashamed closed doors

Beyond the  deafening monotone of seashore

And words be unbegotten, forevermore