Dear Dreams, Dear Diary

Down! Down to the burning grounds,
wallow in filth as your regrets scream;
the barks and growls of the dungeon hounds,
shivering flames atop a rusted beam.

Has the ostrich so many wrongs,
to bury her head as the sinner would;
though lamp black vapours shall hold his tongue,
the clarity of guilt under a witch’s hood.

Dissonant crows on this quest embark,
away from the self all truths are cast,
a tragic tale of an innocent boy,
who sacrificed all for a tainted heart.

Nimble steps for a scripted hunt,
though mirage is all in a silvery pond,
with each deceit her feathers darker still,
such is the birth of an abyssal swan.