Our silent words are nothing
Our sickening songs are dead
That last breath of something
Was just a whisper in my head

The moving world around me
Is growing darker by the hour
My bleeding heart is dreaming
Of screaming down that tower

Of the embrace that awaits me
Of the sudden eclipse of sound
Solemn grace which escapes me
As my dungeon hits the ground

This sunlight shames November where he grieves
In dead red leaves, and will not let him shun
The day, though bough with bough be over-run.
But with a blessing every glade receives
High salutation; while from hillock-eaves
The deer gaze calling, dappled white and dun,
As if, being foresters of old, the sun
Had marked them with the shade of forest-leaves.

Here dawn to-day unveiled her magic glass;
Here noon now gives the thirst and takes the dew;
Till eve bring rest when other good things pass.
And here the lost hours the lost hours renew
While I still lead my shadow o’er the grass,
Nor know, for longing, that which I should do.

you were the last
bird of summer

the golds of the
sun melted as you flew

wrapped to an oak-washed
sky, that slowly unravelled

you were my love
and i loved you with every

soft breath of my soul.

"I drink to numb my mind and mouth so that these barbed, bladed thoughts can pass through my throat and lips with ease."