Grow, thorny soboles, grow!
Enlace my jaded heart
with a slanted will
of a maid sloe-eyed,--
then plague the welkin with its flows.
Foredoom of blighted skies,
entomb my dun wails
with thine oneirous bane
o' my forthcoming darking
demise.
Ah, charmling-wild despair
of my emotions,--
they art the rotten potions,
brewed from mine fell nightmares--
An' darkness, queenly blooming,
lull me with thine song,--
unburden me from th' glooming
cherubic an' perilous dome...
Open thy pestilent graves
of thine ravenous maws,--
its adour madly soars
an' wrapes my heart
with its dark waves--
Of th' oblivionizing murkiness' days,--
An' fragile days
of a heartening wane.
Foredoom of Blighted Skies
© Copyright: Амита Немцева, 2015
Свидетельство о публикации №115040800661
Свидетельство о публикации №115040800661
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