Awaiting night to begin,
Saying a moot Hail Mary,
Falling deeper into sin –
Escape the ordinary.
Fearing the volcanic skies,
The crescent moon swiftly wanes;
Mankind’s chorus slowly dies,
But the raven’s cry remains.
And a slow ticking clock,
Which refuses to define,
Or respond, even ad hoc,
With the answer I enshrined.
At the zenith of the abyss,
Writing the flames anew,
But, these verses are remiss,
Languid and full of rue.
But, in awe, I so designed,
Words that trail to ellipses,
Indulging in truths of mind,
And I am the solipsist.
But, far too methodical,
To forever write so free,
The words that are logical,
The words which are cursing me.
Awaiting night to begin,
Such a foolish sight to see,
No penance for any sin,
With deep wounds to just let be.
