Mournful Glare

in the slant of Moonlight, homeless motes loiter as starving maggots;
once earthbound, now stymied from life's trickeries, they're the spoils
that danced with insolent glee to the riffs of many an insincere Eulogy.

my weary Eyes gaze blankly into the Night, redolent of cinereal gloom;
ripened of too many a fruitless Journey, I recover down below the taste
for its sallow harvest and stagger on in my omen-laden Pilgrimage.

as the hour struggles lamely to its exit, hell looms into our pygmy World.
palid cataracts pelt down in a barrage of torrential fire, a rancid Banshee
cures the frosty air with thundering songs of laminated Anxiety.

braides of lightning run like shrieking veines across the dreary billows,
slays the viscose and stifling air, for too long enriched by Gaunts calling
my Name, to avail myself for a drink from their mulched bosoms.

sworn Fealty to the imperative instinct of survival, I dash for an escape.
no bearings nor Lodestar to suit my personal cause, and twined to the
unwieldy burden of yore, my Shadow, I never left this enthropic maze.



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