Its like a face I hold inside, a face that awakes when I close my eyes

When the darkness starts to rise
From under rocks and into the skies,
The joy-sustaining refrain of lies
Leaves a cadaver swathed in flies,
And every blink of the corpse's eyes
Enkindles a desperate thirst for demise,
Forgetting the quest for the contended Prize
That holds together the ties.

The Golden Fleecers die sunset 'til dawn,
The night is Antigone's hour.

The End

64 comments about this poem Feed