Dark Growth Poem by Peter S. Quinn

Paint my heart with tincture
Tones of tears from within
Years have become abolisher
For every gray tone and tin
Heart is always in its doubt
Impure symmetry accepted
In and out and here about
Not as before was expected

Lessons the plunge of times
From there and to the hard
Pantomime followed mimes
Every aspect thus so jarred
Perhaps you don't venerate me
Only justify your tattered tins
With its own pneumonia key
Obtained elements phrase-ins

Like a tree of tortured roots
Dumped in the rubbish heap
I've carried some lifeless fruits
In silent run in quiescent deep
Submerged treasured trays
And knotted their dark growth
Conquered freedom many ways
With my own and given both