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Autumn 1888
A curdled cry no human heart can hear,
As shrieking wind tears living flesh-leaves bare,
Betimes, an age ago, once verdant green and sheer
In sunlight bright, now aged-brown and sere,
Stripped screaming from their corpse, sliced in darkness, ear to ear.
Dark dour detectives, streetlamps gaunt,
Stand sentinel where sable shadows haunt
Half desolate streets, like watching witnesses
That see but can't discern, through pallid purblind eyes
That flicker, fade and fail, as much more than darkness dies.
Morn: drips drizzle, ever dreary, from the dismal sullen skies,
Drops from cloudy curtains closing, as if shielding Heaven's eyes;
Yet still the streets are dampening with the tears of someone's cries.
While the world itself seems weeping for the woman who is lost
Humanity, in darkness, keeps amnesic of the cost.
A curdled cry no human heart can hear,
As shrieking wind tears living flesh-leaves bare,
Betimes, an age ago, once verdant green and sheer
In sunlight bright, now aged-brown and sere,
Stripped screaming from their corpse, sliced in darkness, ear to ear.
Dark dour detectives, streetlamps gaunt,
Stand sentinel where sable shadows haunt
Half desolate streets, like watching witnesses
That see but can't discern, through pallid purblind eyes
That flicker, fade and fail, as much more than darkness dies.
Morn: drips drizzle, ever dreary, from the dismal sullen skies,
Drops from cloudy curtains closing, as if shielding Heaven's eyes;
Yet still the streets are dampening with the tears of someone's cries.
While the world itself seems weeping for the woman who is lost
Humanity, in darkness, keeps amnesic of the cost.
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