by ianblackpoet

My soul is dark! Enamoured of –
This dismal, decadent malaise
Whose velvet clutches inward creep
As venom to a wound;
In whose starless black horizon
I am lesser, yet the more.

The deepest melancholic haze
Becomes tranquility, fleeting –
Respite in a storm of sorrows.
Chimerical, my woes –
Emerge amid the shadow; they
Guard my joys, even from myself.

My dreams are as a tapestry,
A thread unravelled by the –
Interminable ebb of time;
And death, for all its charm,
Is but the fruit of Tantalus
Whose satiating flesh eludes.

That fierce obsidian hellhound –
Lingers at my side, his onyx
Eyes unearthly wracked in torment.
The vultures come to rest;
Ritual black cloaks enlaced with –
Silent dread. Ravenous, they wait.