By Temujin Frost

This broken little thing
How could it be the answer?
Despite the trouble it brings
This desperate little thing
Could be a star dancer?

Something which transcends yet defines
Being and time
How then can I call it mine?
Is it I or something I own?
How do I make it a loving home?

Owned by which I own
Circular until we stop the abuser
Yet at the call for torture
No one knows who is the user

Curious creature this mind of mine
Haunted home of the divine
Trapdoors and complex mechanisms of trick
To hide unknown floors of infinite magic

This broken little thing
With all the trouble it brings
So sick and so sore
Wants love and nothing more
Not to be understood nor admired

For the lost dog by the shore
Lean and wired
Call, don’t chase please
It will only die tired

Through endless milky black it yearns to roam
Yet growing from its back is my home
Hopeless, I hold out a bone
Yet it says it was I who fled the throne

The water is freezing
If I chase we will be drowned
If I turn no home will be found
So I just stand there
To its gaze rendered bare