As sunlight tickles on my skin
Why can’t I feel it sinking in?
As if some frost from deep below
Poisons the fallow of my soul.
Dead things lay where vultures gather
I feel them circling ahead
Distant, as if behind my thoughts
They’re hunting for something I’ve lost.
Greater storms of older demons
are plaguing with their callous touch.
I run, yet the palls surround me
a threat against all true affronts.
The Chrysalis of Mystery
at what cost will you turn to gold?
Good Midas and crucible of:
the brazen, beautiful, and bold.
Now thy great cocoon enshrouds me
every vein of thought unwoven
lost into that ghoulish nothing,
a glimpse of dark eternity.
Oblivion, who comes for me,
what vespers shall I grant to thee?
What plea for aid, would darkness heed,
whose smile bears only pallid fangs?
And yet, while shadows listen not,
what hears me is what turns the Earth!
Each prayer from in the chrysalis
reminds my soul: to weather this.
Gently, the storm-clouds pass me by
and fires of rage are kinder skies.
Through death, at last its sinking in!
As sunlight tickles on my skin.