Affair

It comes to me most often at dusk When the light of day succumbs to haunted silhouettes Advances jagged as brittle rust With persistent polish, pronounced meaning begets Language is a precocious mistress Leaving the medium in rendered distress But there is beauty inlaid in the toil Despite the primate hands that bring it to boil Captivity does not require chains Tormented thoughts affirm this to be true But it all too often holds the reins Until the touch of truth from my pen is through So I will sit before this blank sheet and bleed This unrelenting force defines my every need And whether you find purpose in the words on these pages It may fail to extinguish the percolations of my mind that rages