Branches

The shape of this
Tree is brown today,
It greys for me,
Colours its mood
To suit mine
Which has gone from
Sun to dullness
To ruin.

I chide myself.
My thoughts sway
As those fixed 
Branches do, entangled
They bend, restless
Back and forth
From this book
To you, and the
Curse you left
On my lips -

I held a glimpse
Of such red
Hatred I had to
Sew the gap quick
Before it escaped
To soil my life
With a rashness
Of crimson turpitude.

Thus I am blue.
Deliberately cool.
Subduing you and
Imposing my own rule.

It's easy when you know how.

previous poem