The pull
From me to you
The strain
Amongst the pain
The hurt
The hole in shirt
The pain
Has left me lame
The spark
The cries of a lark
Images
Of long lost forages
The ties
Your chains and lies
Cyclones
And ancient titans
Gatherings
Festival happenings
Blessed
Now the true test
Patience
Paid the penance
Oneself
Rested on a shelf
My turn
No more Yearns
Free
Now we shall see
Ghost words of the imaginings 
see such misery
tis the season
so oft devoid of reason
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Anyone can tell
The spell Tis not broken
Only woken
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here comes a whet week
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