a wolf cries under the moon's dying breath
he bleeds for his muse; art lost, enticed by regret
midst the bending of light, a rueful half-smile lingers
memories of their love-lost, felt like salt on splintered fingers

the flowers that grew in their hearts withered as fast as they bloomed
by ice-thawing promises that led to their doom
shooting stars were wasted on bootless wishes
by a heart that refused to take the mind as a guest

cheeks engraved with downward railways was tinted in black and blue
the soul's oasis was awfully shed for one hue;
a shade that had been washed out, like an acid-dipped thread
a love once vibrant; turned dull by uncertainty's dread

the wolf cried under the moon's dying breath
he lost his muse before the sun could take its nest
the tears were a residue of his nightmare's banquet
a horrifying dream under the torrid glow of his darkest secret