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No sooner had these rains ceased
chains undone and all the world aglow
before - alas - your vision blurs
and spawns once more a grim figment.

What is this shade incessantly
shattering what I love and know
as porcelainic spirit?
Malady, milady, malignant.

Trust as I do that you'll never
on bended knee before it yield,
such decision rests with another
- of whom I speak with mildness.

I would not recognize you
if fettered and lifelessly thus heeled;
luminous and lush for sure
and absolute is Your Wildness.
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Submitted: May 17, 2008
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Written in another time. :O
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my poem:)

--
But he was unmoved, and cried: "If I am mad, it is mercy! May the gods pity the man who in his callousness can remain sane to the hideous end!"-HP Lovecraft

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