Blessed is each graceful untruth,

every clandestine whisper uttered with translucent intent

close enough to singe, close enough to burn

to burn, to burn

A fire that blossoms if only to forge a path

between forgetting and forgiveness

Heavy are the chains as they break

when the simple becomes complex;

a convolution of all that is sugar and sweetness

and viciously bitter

Akin to the parched following a dry riverbed

in search of water, such are frantic souls this close to quenched

Blessed be this moment when time slips beside now and then,

an examination of each thread of a string as it unravels

A medusa of sorts, this witness to the past and the future

A master of the present

And when she winks, stone hearts crumble

and return to dust

Image by press 👍 and ⭐ from Pixabay 

prompts: The Sunday Whirl, #deepstorydesign, #PenPixels