The Empty Cradle
Twas' not a night of sleep but rather one
of fumbled words
with coiling dreams and never ending grief;
She was my doll deprived of touch and breath
devoid of arms and bosom bare;
So lost was I in deep forfeited grace
that down in single file to the City
of insanity I went
All spent and desolate to the empty cradle
I did ask,
can you hear her minuet ?
can you feel her angel breath ?
I should have known by your stone reply
that you could not return
the facsimile of her soft smile;
And so in false pretense
the moon just bore me in
til' dawn all flushed with orange glow
forgave the night and took me down
without a fight.
Copyright © Mystic Rose Rose | Year Posted 2018
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