Me

Me
So happy

Thursday, February 26, 2015

Of yearning, of death, of boundless life

Hey folks, I wrote this new, original poem tonight. Hope you enjoy!

I, in the dreggy eve
Have felt the distinct chill
Of a lonely spirit pass o'er
Bone-chilled by phantom
Zephyr
I imagine the bards of old
Scribing of death as posey
A phantasy constrained
By quill and verse
Crafted by flesh-bound hands,
Yet did they understand
The flesh-lorn feel
Of unborn-weeping night?

A night born of darkness,
Lithe light interned
In the grave of absence,
It was wood, splinter and sweat
They crafted to master the waves
And dream their feckless dreams,
Mocking the restless dead,
Called their names in pyres
Blasphemed by the fires
Moaned at the climax of day
Of hands grasping only
The afterglow.
So it was that the dead
Returned,
And reclaimed the living.



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