The Chains

Torn in chain, my wrists are bare,

Daunting, grieving, unaware.

Nine times a stitch in her golden hair.

Perpetual love I do declare.

Wander from my dear embrace,

As yonder to the soft felt lace,

Of broken hands and ankles kept,

The dearest heart has wept.

Eyes will see, explicitly,

Truth in aberrance soliloquy.

And the poets dream of solitude.

Brings upon some rectitude.

Free as verse, my love, my child.

I fervently admired.

© 1 day ago rhyme