Spile (a poem)
Silence
your reward and punishment
for my kindness, for my love
Your silence
spreads, acid creeping through my veins
quells the muse
binds my tongue
turns my words to ash
Your spile dug deep into my wood
honeyed spirit drained in great golden drops
spilled to the cold ground
wasted
like the blood of a too-young soldier
branches pale, leeched of life
Silence
grows like vines
webbing around me, a metal tomb
and I trapped within
my love for you
the melody
that plays on and on
drowning out your
silence
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