The forbidden chalice

The darkness comes once more

to the land of restless souls.

As my eyes gaze into the black

quilt of night, my memory, forsaken

evermore, shivers as the breathe

of the heeded chant of time

discloses another door.

I sing to my shattered heart

a weeping lullaby. 

I morn the shreds of tortured skin

to whom, one day, with sour regret,

I will have to wave goodbye.

A pawn I've been 

in an endless game of creation's

joke and throttle,

for I have not lived,

I say, my youth of years,

but still I will have to die.

So to Pleasures I have not known

I wish to raise a plentiful  chalice;

to put my lips on that forbidden wine

and savour all its poison.

Oh, You that read and shake your head

with blush and disapproval,

don't judge me vile or libertine,

for day by day your life

is ending and your flesh and beauty

are being dismantled.

And you will blemish with every sunset

and, for so, become futile. 

That day will come, for it is now tomorrow,

and you will be, like me, startled

by that pitch black night,

so thick and enduring

of regret and endless sorrow.