The darkness swallows both shadow and shade,
and in the depths most guarded is free to skulk.
Only fools plunge into the unruly abyss to prod,
stirring the raucous rapids as if for twisted sport.
Untamed thoughts swirl with scathing ideals,
leaving raw words to sicken a tethered union.
Must two always become three, four, or five?
Can not one and one be the blessed chosen prime?
What cannot be undone is the penance that tolls,
exacting without pity from the treasured chambers.
Only when all is laid bare will the darkness recede,
taking as spoil the vow which now mourns its witness.