Post by Fyacin on Sept 22, 2009 17:08:16 GMT -5
Black withered roses lie at my feet
Their petals decay while the sun sleeps
Soft traces waiting in moon’s cold light
Now given unto the passing night
As reaching branches bear their hollow thorns
(So oft bereft of harm’s sanguine songs)
Strange willows ask for my dead name
Pleas whispered without a hint of blame
Tears collect within the morning’s dew
A lonely spider, shall his web now sew
His fragile threading clings to the air
And I, silent, watching, can’t seem to care.
Their petals decay while the sun sleeps
Soft traces waiting in moon’s cold light
Now given unto the passing night
As reaching branches bear their hollow thorns
(So oft bereft of harm’s sanguine songs)
Strange willows ask for my dead name
Pleas whispered without a hint of blame
Tears collect within the morning’s dew
A lonely spider, shall his web now sew
His fragile threading clings to the air
And I, silent, watching, can’t seem to care.
