Grasp,
did the scarlet doom
and bruised the greedy air
of my dystopian room.
It was her perfume!
and with the long lasting heat,
She took away my sheet.
Baffled was i,
then Lethargic,
when daggered,
and neglected.
But of surpassing numbness,
did the wrath of Juno
bestowed upon my heart,
to that olympian peak
echoed the beat,
withdrawn apart,
in the expanding spiral!
did the weeping idol,
fall down too hard.
***
What is there left to hope?
What horizon is still in sight?
If life is but mountains and valleys
to the beaten eyes;
I can never face her dawn,
for the rays are too bright!
I can never grasp what's gone,
away from my sight!
I can never feel her waves,
for the sea gave me fright!
And the long withered dress,
(that was made of my sheet
like a shroud round her feet),
floated like smoke in the musty mess
of our dystopian garden
---
And i am sorry,
for never watering our thorns.