Moments of Lucidity

I am finding moments of lucidity,

 

 

in these nights rife with embellished misery.

 

 

The earthy dank of books in the library

 

 

take virtues and spell them out in lovely prose.

 

 

Manic lace and fibers frill take away breath

 

 

and cautiously still like junkies shoot their death.

 

 

My hands are god’s grace and I retrieve Macbeth

 

 

and Shakespeare is still the only one who knows.