Missing

Tell me of these flightless wings, 

of your weakened nest and vested sadness. 

Lazarus Antonin Artaud with a single tear plummet from the rouge of your sorrow filled eyes, summon back the lunar cloth then speak to me in light of this no more. 

Our hearts grow ill, though I fear yours bound to too much ailing, pray while I wish in this dreadful silence, be all that wounds and surges from the nectar of today's death. 

The night has filled its haunting riches and now leads us here adrift in the reigns of murky water, we must rest before the mourning.

Reviews

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

I like this piece of poetry it really has an old soul feel to it. Like the bards of old. Excellent work Perdition.

[Perdition]

Reincarnation is a hell of a thing..haha. Thank you, Carlos!!