I'm amid the blue of funk,
slowly circling
ever clear
the day of drear
that is your own.

Are you prone
prostrate in the depth
gasping for breath
again
my friend?

How much of me
do you claim
to own
as payment
for lengthy list
of sin?

Do you think
it your right
into my life,
and I as wife
must lay before
and sin no more?

Yet still drag
the chains you
put upon?

I grow weary
of blue mood
while you're in
the midst of brood.

Only fitting
two worlds
so similar
now make up
the together of us.

WhiteRose