Venin

How incomplete is my silence
Without the stimulation
Of your soft, serene presence
On my sanity and station.

Suppressed, like a stolen secret
I sway, searching for support
Holding, on one hand, my spirit
On another, my bleeding heart.

Flickering at a sorry span
Shines guidance, calling at me
I seek; in a subtle scan
Its beckoning - half-heartedly.

Supposed synonyms look and smile
At striking similitudes
But I sense the shaking spile
In the weakening attitudes.

The gardens, the fields; they call out
Afar, the tight rope awaits
Vicious and savage, the flames shout
As I stroke the poisonous bait.