Cleft Of Crimson Poem by Christian Thomas Scott

The seven wheels were turning on the sand,
And two were tight as iron's hold on blade,
The other two were led by strict command,
And two lay rounded, softened while they're made.
Yet lastly breaks the bond to take the lead,
While spinning sand's perplexity to shame.
Between the six of earthbound land agreed,
And sorrowful they turn to darker claim.
For Now, Behold! I turn a page to Spring,
And lurking shadows shake off wary gaze.
I live without another's closer holding,
And now escaping boredom's weary maze.
To those who still within the cells remain,
Let love now die, for you shall stay the same.