A hearth of ice, a cup of sand Feeds no gut and heats no hand Ghost filled walls and empty hall Silent cheers to an unplayed band. Brambled clothes, a prose, a line kept fine Divided stark 'tween he and thine. A coin? A bribe. A favor, the spell to keep the bind. A grifter, a drifter a seller of wares with no care. A Perfect vase stays in place, a story unowned, but a drone a puppet 'neath the potter's grace. Break the boon break the pot, wabi-sabi is the lot. A finished plan never stands, a mountain ground, a salad tossed. No value lost? No treasure found. No dares? No one cares. The end is the means the dream, the dread, left unread. Disunity crushed with community, the drifter's bane, no stake no thane. A hearth of ice, would be nice, a cup of sand, would sate demand. This bread this meat, this warmth replete Recurse this curse, this depth and throe, self-imposed. A Heart of ice, and an empty hand.
