He puffs in the nightly brume
His noctambulous proclivity
He calls it, a force of habit
Something automatic
Tonight is especially morbid
Atrabilious even
As he hunches gaunt
Over her headstone
That has grown verdant
Of many a night waxed lachrymose
The midnight wind is severe
A morbid creak fills his ears
He calls it his familiar
His body enervated
A chiliad of nights and tears
Have taken their toll
Gaunt from endless prayers
Then an icy apparition so clear
A familiar, sum of his fears,
Appears, standing in the midnight air
An icy depth and an icy glare his familiar
A formication forms in his chest
As usual no words exchanged
The wind blows the mist away
And soft rain begins to fall
And the owl begins to howl
She is gone, she is gone!
Ingratitude is the desire of tears,
Fire the cold void in my heart,
You plunge a chiliad spicules to save my heart,
Forging comprehension in that bliss,
Holding my hand back in the devil's den,
We faced it all,
We are bestowed by the priest,
I take you to be mine,
In heartseases, heartaches and heartedness...
We culminate on this day,
Valentine's roses on our heartstrings...
She walks in beauty
Following the above silver rays
Her hope fastening with some alacrity
Feathers of smile gently sways
Between stardust accompany to ignite
The clear darkness of her walking lane
From distant heaven echoes her docile gait,
Convivial fairies salute her when pace wane,
Lull solitude with half soul comes to meet her
To revel the moment of whilst gather once
She embraces below chiliad of the stars
Kiss the moonlight and beg for morrow bunce
Again she follows back the silverware gleam
And she walks in beauty into her pleased beam.
Copyright © Dawa Zangpo | Year Posted 26/08/2018.
November: Autumn's chiliad auroras feathered
Rain: twirling whirling against a windowpane
Copyright McCuen 2008
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