Fallen to the, mad moon’s trance
Or o’er yearning’s, blessed thorn
Is life and love, pain’s dalliance?
The bloodbath, of a heart forlorn!
She coos the psalm, of a solemn sin
Drenched in the fury, of despair
What spurs a storm, her heart’s within?
A newfound love, or its pain debonair!
A petite soul, dissolves in dark
The mystique, of the human stains
And churns out truth, ever so stark
“We Are The Substance, Of Our Pains”
Not spent, as yet, from dusk to dawn
Her heart’s hutzpah, beyond soul’s might
To farm the dreams, our sorrows spawn
The Magpie Needs To Bleed …All Night!
© 2018 Vikas Chandra