Like The Night

A delicate pressing wind,

A fierce scorch within,

The strength once there has withered,

The snapping of heart strings.

 

Behind the porcelain guise,

Masking of the truth;

A dance of swirling atoms,

Restores the flickering of youth.

 

The eyes are rising fire,

The hunger not unseen,

Framing of the flower,

The nectar sucked so keen.

 

A walking beauty fawned,

With ravens to her sing,

But within a core of darkness,

Fades to another nothing.

The End

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