Tendrils

The fine tendrils taut, tearing at open woundsDangling, threads frayed and moods staid The vines wind, like a python squashing the life,The love and hope out of the moment  The network strands like crossed wires, overAnd over again, forming a frame of miscommunicationAgony and despair, watch as new lines storm the bodyTearing at the lungs and the heart, taking the life  From what was left, a lump of dry earth, dead –Dust, ashes to ashes, life to rustPainfully stirring, tides tear the body as it tearsItself, ebbing but not flowing, not forming and notFree  Agony is all that is left in me, hidden emotion not spokenNot seen and not known, pain in the mindStress tears the body, squashes, till no air remainsChoking, choking back tears, choking on the grainsThe grains of life as they flow freely  Whilst time marches on.