September Night

 

It was a cool, September night.
The pale moon shone a shimmering light
as stars rode high over indigo skies,
and a vagrant breeze echoed ravens' cries.
The dark nights' spirit spoke to me in tears
of burdens carried through the years.

You appeared to me, a celestial sight,
a veil of stars that struck piercingly bright;
but when I looked into your eyes so blue,
you told me there was someone new.
Now I can't live, for all the world's a lie,
but, still, I live on, although I long to die
and sleep the sleep of the oblivious dead
and escape the madness roaring in my head.

A web of deceit is this poor fool's hell;
a crimson stain his sad shade as well.
The fortunate son knows not toil or trouble,
but the Gordian knot binds the bursting bubble.
A quiet voice startles the bird of paradise,
echoes hollowly in love's shattered device,
reverberates in the chasm of memory,
leaves a dull reminder of what could never be.