Black skies have veiled the crescent moon
mocking from atop her golden throne
as if playing the wisest but saddest tune
ghastly, bloody grin in a shapeless form.
Pointing with those twisted, bony fingers
at the small and sorrowful lives of men
burning dreams and kisses to ash and tinder
spread by winds across a snowy glen.
Cold gales on a cold and bloodless night.
Glass of whiskey whispers soothing words.
Falling darkness black is all in sight.
Love is but the dream that faded first.
What is there in life to touch and behold
when all the hopes and joy have fled
and you are falling in abyss, nothing to hold
drowning in a sleep of endless, ancient dread?
Image by pixabay
Drowning In Your Sleep
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