It is a problem,
For I have not found it here yet.
Spires have taken my holiness
Unaccounted for,
Untrained,
Un-restricted.
Like a dove in flight,
But without regret.
There shall be no more passion,
No more emotional choices.
So it lays thus, solid and lifeless,
Awaiting a deep agony,
A lifeless sympathy,
That shall agree with
No more of this world
And of its gains.
Floundered,
Spinning into earth
Yet leaving marks: vivid,
As the Oak leaf stays
Through Winter.