the misguided patriarch of night
the misguided patriarch of night
no ancient relic could hold this hue
run through with loss,
mounted as a morbid monument to darkness
ravaged by wind,
rain,
the seasons
swaying in time,
precarious,
so uncertain
permanent grief keeps these memories hanging
and i wonder;
what have i hung with mournful wire?
it’s too tragic to believe that only sadness lasts
love must plant its roots
and grow immovable
so i’m dropping seeds in foreign soil
to sprout in the light of every tomorrow
that i will not see