The Line

A line so vague

It's hardly there,

Like strands of light

On wind-swept hair

 

It floats so freely,

Slim and Light

Yet never bends,

Or reveals its might

 

It settles down

Near its host

By eyes not seen;

A looming ghost

 

It moves in swift

And silent slides,

It makes its home

Where it hides

 

It nestles in,

You feel no pain,

You lose control

Your loss; it's gain

 

Its wants and wills

Consume your head

Relenquish all -

Or be dead