i

I feeleth a calming bereavement, from mine own heart's dying
I mosey the coffin carousel of this lonesomeness artistic torture;
I dig with nail's into mine isolation box, kicking stones, lifting rock's, and as the nightshine seepeth, I close mine eyes, weepeth.

ii

Yet this grave shalt not be mine end, though an amour is not there, for forlornness hath becometh a beloved best of friends;
Thither the protection of the gloom, I shalt burst on through, breaking into the rainbow that shalt streameth to mine beauty.

iii

Mine dying shalt reneweth me, the tomb shalt not subdue me
The copse forest shalt enticeth me, as I swayeth and flyeth asunder from mine carcass, with none asunder to holdeth back mine natural capabilities, as all senses shalt be enhanced.

iv

The wind wilt guideth me wherein others couldst not, mine creator to showeth me mine lifespan plot, to continue to loveth, even whilst the groan's that cometh near, mine vision, and view's to be glorious, this freedom of mine eternal entity alive, no fear's.

v

It shalt be a triumphant of all life's, wherein I shalt haveth a wife, to comfort me, thus all to be alright, as guardian's to me shalt be an insight, an insight of mineself deeply and the spiritual realm that shalt engulf me, and swaddle me so peacefully in awakening.





©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry