spellbound

sepulchers dry in the sun, as
peals from steeples ripple over
elysian fields – carry your name;
languorous laments
let go their boney grasp;
boundless in your beauty
on my palette, your color spreads
undulations in ribbed cages;
night wraps her budding moon,
destined to burn.

 

from Instagram: http://ift.tt/2qmmH3J
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for J –


I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.

Edgar Allan Poe

part two

joy lept from my window
   (pain)
out before the morning
   rise
another flown to safer
   shores
never falters – poe’s curse
   (disdain)
nevermore the chance worth
   taking
empty is my heart
   without