Parlance,
Like a sepulcher of Dreams,
Whispering shades of demise into my waking Thoughts,
Twisting all my emotions into dread
While fear plucks the uncanny strings of his melancholic Lyre,
Placating,
Gesticulating wildly,
Grasping at my every shred of Hope
As it Reaches Beyond the slurking mire,
Brazen in its disregard of paltry insolence.
Upward,
Mounting Guard upon its post
To Look the cavernous void in the eye
And Smile in Gentlest Victory,
For Sweet Hope Sees what lethargy and doubt cannot;
Sweet Hope peers into the murky dimness
And Finds Light.
~Morgan~
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Beautiful Original Artwork by: Lady Symphonia
Poet's Corner 