The Capture Poem by Paul Andrew Bourne

I awoke advancing from the confines of a covenant
like leaves in an opened runlet. To see waters cascading
in from off the citadel of ravished bowels
from the acceptance of twisted and broken things.

Is it that fire purifies or kills the make of a thing
that calls for heat? For the inside of this cell is
charcoal: For with one organ he offered friendship, love
and with another he quickly gave the assistance that the
Romans bestowed on the divinity.

He formed a tie at the cut of all exits
so that the escape milieu could be construed
as having no glitch, make my eyes be filled
with the thought of that Samaritan.
But, he knitted a knot that was kinked
that all good efforts were seen.

I felt the flood gates opened to release
force on my innocent soul.
He had taken the materials of this world
to execute a craft which threatens to hijack my
profound ignorance.
The one kind that had showed concern like a
mother is now in the hands of the system: I had
revealed to this confidant the secrets chambers,
the reserves of kinship, the frequencies of failure,
and source of all under-accomplishments in
exchange for camaraderie.

I witnessed the heavens opened to curse one so wise
yet simplistic. For the voice spoke of the offerings
that made such a capture wrong. He had given winding
loops for experiences.