Golden Shovel
silenced may be the words of she
yet through the echoes of minds she walks
with the weave of thoughts you let her in
where shadows of night behold her beauty
she'll wind down paths you may not like
make no sense in the suspense of these or the
whereas darkness plagues like lightless night
yet you listen to what she sternly speaks of
until tears rain from a mind that's cloudless
and emotions peak like blades in spring's climes
your mind, it bleeds like morning rise and
your eyes, now opened wide, appear less starry
then these clouded overhead darkened skies
your mind less blank, your paper now full, and
your muse herself ... she spilled it all
ruthless, relentless, that's
emotionless at best
you shiver at what she speaks of
in the depths of thoughts so dark
yet you awake from her grasp and
see a clouded mind more bright!
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Lord Byron – She Walks in Beauty
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