Shades of Thorny Sorrow

Walking in the Shades of Thorny Sorrow

 

All winters are the same, unhinged,

pungent, dare-not-to-show-emotions,

a succubae waking up from time's dust.

 

This horror, you know by now, is beyond

redemption. If only you settled for less,

the far-fetched skyline, mummified fogs

 

jesting amidst your wounds, pompous,

awash in levity, impalpable like a lover's

touch. You succumb into its shades,

 

knowing your sorrow no more propels itself

into a willable love song. So that the ever

forsaken-enigma may come to an end.

 

Anthem of friars, dark shadows never fail

to declare that even driven by acute despair,

one may still be entering into a cobweb

 

half-gratefully, of a pinned-up-aloft, never-

deviating cloister where the dead innocence

comes alive, to and fro, Seraph's shuttered chime.

 

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