A thousand pins and needles
running through a basic form.
Not knowing how the future
might live on.

Red ran down the alabaster pillar.
Bloody right of nights once thought divine.
Alterations of the past.
A blast of intuition.

Fiery, the sizzling of every thing
that used to seem so real.
Ashes where the green of grass
once called invitingly.

Basic structures broken,
within a silence spoken -
all too liberal to be denied.
Perhaps we'll never know the reason why.

And yet the feel could never leave
the loving far behind. High above,
a single dove, arose within the whiteness
of a mind.

Like a thousand pins and needles
running through a basic form.
Concepts of creative worth.
The death we find within rebirth.

Beliefs that never felt the weight of time.
Infinity found in a reasoned rhyme.
The shock, the pain - the love regained.
The fire of desire would burn again...

? Michaelette ?