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Silver Bullet
As I look into the vast ocean of wight,
here in the shadows of wont right,
left amongst the myriad mellifluously,
will you still hold a monstera like me?
To be this maiden fair — to care about myself,
ore not to mine — opals rainbow in black skies,
heralding a new plateau of what you know,
breaking the shackles of the winter cold.
As I gaze into the bleak sea of night,
hearing sweet edicts of your final rites,
left turning into an arrow without a quiver,
wilt lullabies still paint my death in color?
To sweven this ounce of decadence in my beloved,
my amo mia, my final goodbye to you,
gould by the expire in hot vermillion — and blue,
kiss blew in the mind with lead — me and through.
Sometimes we need to be — golden silence.
Copyright ©
Beatrix Macabre
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