The drunken gaze of Night befell,
on a lonesome angel breathing blue.
Twice she tossed as drops of dew,
fled her eyes and wrecked her shell.
The wanton watcher rose from its tomb,
dropped its robe of black and gold,
crept into her heart; its feet so cold-
and gave a hope to her hapless womb.
Long after Lust had limped its lyre,
travails trilled in the angel's gut.
Night was lost; its eyes shut-
Dawn placed her on destiny's pyre.
And there she lies still, to burn an eternity-
to burn and to mourn; to earn her certainty.
No comments:
Post a Comment