Sometimes I oft wonder the gaze that brings me hither,
Surely not, but the passing of day and sounds mute fall’n;
His ears are swollen with the tender words she thusly gave,
Relapses into the silks of his last folds of that bed sought,
The wine sipped but grew his eyes a bitter image ere fought,
Who walks through night and observes once his own company played,
Who dwells in the dark as the time decayed gestures once anew,
Collapses then at the cold of stone where none but light never fare,
Sighs of the heat once left and the cold here invading: so grows,
Breaches his ears the tears encompass and finds himself there alone;
For he had a day in a week thus lost and a week’s gain in a day made,
Sure to have walked ere crawled but feather gained none but melted stood,
Greases the creases of his skin those hands effect that moon illumine,
Shines the cursed life; shuns the token frought, but beneath all wept,
Hence those clouds bringing more; and the moon that escapes his gaze,
Looked again at himself then to his life, thus the moon darkness relishes.

Category:
Mysterious, Nature, Nocturnal, Poetry, Romance, Works
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