Can't think of any...

Manacled in my own thoughts,
An incessant chain for which there
ain't a full stop.

Burning like hell,
voluntarily relenting to a dark
and impasse lull.

The sweet sound of benevolent wind,
a hunch she is cuddling to soothe
impervious but this soul is making
her grind.

Unrelenting desire to eclipse in
mother's blanket of love.
finding her not, hiding underneath the dark clouds,
laying on this motherly rough.

Every piece broken craving for the mystic touch,
One enough to invigorate this
rusted lump.

Its not the end,nay its
beginning.
My eyes fixed above knows it has to be the end of beginning