Mute
Mute hues of dusk gone, still ‘cept for clerid
Sight is slight, sloe murk taunts with ‘a whisper
Shadows come creeping, silence grows trepid
Twilight so stark, not ‘beam of pale lunar
Seeps through this chill shroud of ritual arcane
Sight is slight, sloe murk taunts with ‘a whisper
My thoughts become smart as my wisdom fades
No sense or viscera to ‘vert brae’k bone
Seeps through this chill shroud of ritual arcane
I lone am the wolf whose fangs turned to stone
Close my feigned eyes, yearn for glimpse of sea green
No sense or viscera to ‘vert brae’k bone
Barren confines for this degrade machine
No solace comes for a soul like me..... so
Close my feigned eyes, yearn for glimpse of sea green
I spied too late what I chose to forgo
Mute hues of dusk gone, still ‘cept for clerid
No solace comes for a soul like me….. so
Shadows come creeping….. silence grows trepid.
Copyright © Victoria Wood | Year Posted 2015
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