Crystal mirror and moonlight dim.

Aetherial arms of rusty metal

draped in delicate fantasy.

Like nebulous blades of strings,

its concert casts the will of the puppeteer.

The beasts roam between sleep and lucidity,

yet the colossus still chases the mirage of unreality.

You will hear his screams echo in the wind,

but his ravings are speared in the wall of subtlety.

The eyes that see stare entranced at the infinite,

and thoughts flee from the chamber of wordly lunacy.

“I once was human”, a voice rustles in

from the backdrop of the scenery,

“yet I died in the pyre of my own scavenging”.

“Does it hurt?”, the undines peep out their heads

from the night pond curiously; “Do you weep?”

The voice retreats.

Silence falls on autumn’s lips,

yet the sentient architect knows

the possible impossibility.

Sandalwood, myrrh, and peppermint

outline the edges of myriad realms –

so apart, yet scarcely distant.

Above two poles of shipwrecked mariners

broken against the rocks of lawful quietness,

sits enthroned the lord of madness.

His eyes burn lapis lazulized,

and his domain is the reflection

of his inventive sacredness

still rubified.

Image by Mylene2401 from Pixabay

In the tenebrous good-bye of lass gold lights

In the sombre bosom of the afternoon cap

In the crib of night-time greyed mist

Does life blossom through

The heart-beats of Dame Melancholy

In the sultry breath of summer

In the ball of corpses coming

In winter rings of loneness

Does my spirit lift and flutter

Like aethereal butterflies

In a garden of delight

Beknownst to amore sepulchral

Serpentine opus furrows

Through the sensuous heedful romance clad

In undercurrents of Plutonian dance

And in this, my paradise,

The forgot mysteries of the diamond lithe

Trickle down with the cascading sky

The cool zephyr yearns for my skin warm

And I remember beauty

In the arms of the thunderstorm

Image by Prawny from Pixabay

Eyes of sorrow, sweetest lips.

They bring the truth to the crevices asleep.

Oh, come to embrace them –

the arms of death.

Come in pleasure to the gravest of fates.

~*~

This love, born of past and star-gaze, brimmed with life as alive was the ulcer of the sealed gate. I could have spent an eternity from peering into his ancient eyes to crafting ways to keep him warm to fancying about many a way to beclothe him with caresses upon losing myself in the outlines of his vessel.

~*~

Melancholy’s inexorable tides washed over the sands of my soul. I drifted and kept on drifting. In sanctified sorrow, I writhed and yearned for that which I could not summon into mind. I brooded over by the dark corners and silent spots, and hid the storm from the common eye until my flaming heart, too, wilted into the covetous mouth of the void.

~*~

And you still wonder why I sleep with skeletons.

And he still grieves the sword you sent before the earth closed.