Coal of Duskfall
Even the pang that duskfall leaves me
is a slow fire in itself
that burns like oil on my pores
till the falling of another night,
when once again aloneness steals the luster
in the sky to burn within my heart
like a treacherous destiny,
burying me from adventurous trails.
I should have known...
there is no real dream between
fate's seemingly empty promises
and the runaway moon's brief goodbyes:
With this damn thought; life is a play,
a flavor bitter as an aftertaste on my tongue
when a groan washes tears away...
never shading me from this coal of isolation
that I am gone, done unto dusk's remains.
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Contest of Edward Ibeh: Misery
01/01/2019
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2019
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