Never do we dream of the once-upon-a-somber-song to fade away,
as moments from the milky moon begin to twirl and sway.
A murky mist of miscalculated mystery makes haste,
sneaking its way along the deserted hallways of locked gates,
weakening the rustic joints of porcelain pillars straight down to untouched floors.
Why must it wait for the sun to be its guide?
For in the darkness, love too can be the greatest tide.
Can the curiosity of a claw discover the depths of a divine madness?
Or could these fangs find themselves vehemently festering
in the corners of unwelcome elements?
Let a limb take its quest along the walkway to the endless sea.
Taste the tortured tears crawling down these decaying knees.
Hold unflinchingly to the fire that aches to roar—
do not let it scream, for it conjures for more.
Time can prepare a frozen glass to let little condescensions
slide down an auburn wood.
Yet something about a restless evening
makes an iron fist feloniously curl up,
as if it so sensationally should.
Categories:
condescensions, angst, cute, writing,
Form: Free verse