High Tides: Dented

Of twists and turns, the fates unfold.
Glacial breeze of lives foretold.
Twist me, churn me
Wring me from my withering soul.
Born unto a fate, squeeze me cold.
For the poetry is lost, the essence sold.
Trapped in a symmetry, trips of the old
Featureless fantasies fallacies behold.
Dented and hollowed, remorse aholds.


Sorry.