Thorns - (c)2000 Nathaniel Simpson

The dream burns, its
waxen tendrils spiralling down over
the heart of a man.

Leaden thorns project from a torn universe
Each bearing a single bleeding heart
Embraced by waxen tendrils of the dream.

Nothing moves except the hearts
Dully beating in the dream time,
And - the tendrils, creeping silently,
Caressing the hearts even as they