On November's Darkening

October 2016

Dusk, here lies thy wonder of a chateau which,

in dawn peered through fear and shallow wishes

of clairvoyance, of deliverance of fear and shallow wishes,

now became but a barren plateau which instills its anguish,

hollowness, to whoever's gaze meets the culprit's burden.

O' such throes the said-vision awakens

with nothingness, its fury is laden

like captured in an iron maiden with no death given,

until its inmate, to death, his body starves,

for the said-maiden is but a husk of darkness's bane.

The nameless rain stretches yonder

leaves no will to wonder

leaves no will to ponder

Thunder roars: 'No longer!'

and thee is left to wander

on november's darkening

Ash-riddled sky cry

bare-naked trees grieve

and reach towards thee

same as these underneath

those sinuous streams of roots

longing to coil their widths

around the fleeing culprit

for tomorrow will be nothing

and thee shall be rotting

and forevermore blinded

on november's darkening

But, vain, are all callings

For thee cannot ear

The wonderful sighs of branches

The whistling stream, relentless

For thee cannot see

The reeling leaves descending

The myriad of hues still-flaming,

In spite of cold unrelenting,

To say that flames are still-ignited

From the sun still-enlightening

This earth still-fighting

Even in the most dreadful darkenings

Nonobstant of haughty lightnings

But vain are all callings

Thee has departed long before they were uttered

Even in the most soothing lulls of winter

Even in the richest blooms of spring

Even in the brightest summers enchanting

Thee remain rotting

In ceaseless dreams

Whose cobblestoned paths

Are endless and bare.