The Crave for Darkness

A flash of the past in stone forged,

her cold eye hosts a graveyard crow.

Midnight breezes in silk dresses emerged,

serenading a deadly lover of woe.

Dolls charm the bedroom velvet,

in the dark palace of her hypnotic notes.

Withering roses and a cat tortured quill,

in belladonna bled her but last will.

The grand requiem of an unborn deceased,

who would sleep in a coffin diseased?

Sickened thoughts the most artful draperies,

of a spirit freer than a wasteland of souls.

Published in: on 19/08/2015 at 9:42 PM  Leave a Comment