Once again recluse at the haunt,
and nothing but the wind’s howl
on a moonless night interrupts—
the silence’s perpetual pry.
Once again at the window sobs,
from the door's gap wind stalk,
to detract my candle in the dark—
as icicles clump—in
a heart-pent.
Once again on the gallows of silence
hung—
in the motionless— dark,
choked,
the pulse, to soothe—
in dreams sunk,
a cricket song, brawling afar—
marching— intone flux,
mounting the breeze-soft.
And the bones chafed, perturbed,
as the desert’s cold fall,
dither grow,
tremulous,
death lust?
await— yet nothing comes.
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Author:
Acheel (
Offline) - Published: September 11th, 2025 16:39
- Category: Surrealist
- Views: 3
Offline)
Comments1
Dark this poem presents thought fragments that build into the disturbance of chaos. Very nice
how do you find the resonance?
It vibrates with impending doom.
This is based on the Catharsis from Aristotle
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