मोस्सिक

Your net is far-reaching, it would seem;
Edges frayed and tattered, torn, hanging from the shards of starlight
Pulled taut, allowing me no surcease of sorrow
And the night falls with a Raven-black intent
Behind my woven iron-will bars I stand bewildered,
Addled by abruptness, lost without love
Though your face is turned away I wonder if your eyes are open still,
and though your ears are filled with sand I wonder if you understand.