Dark Growth

Paint my heart with tincture Tones of tears from within Years have become abolisher For every gray tone and tin Heart is always in its doubt Impure symmetry accepted In and out and here about Not as before was expected Lessons the plunge of times From there and to the hard Pantomime followed mimes Every aspect thus so jarred Perhaps you don't venerate me Only justify your tattered tins With its own pneumonia key Obtained elements phrase-ins Like a tree of tortured roots Dumped in the rubbish heap I've carried some lifeless fruits In silent run in quiescent deep Submerged treasured trays And knotted their dark growth Conquered freedom many ways With my own and given both