The quickening of sand parallels
the quivering of the dagger in hand,
plunging, ever so slight,
stealing the breath of the
shivering wind of twilight.
Release a timid sigh, gentle fool,
for my heart has met its final duel,
and I'll soon find where my fragile
heart had danced with a shallow mind,
so cruel.
And a tool, I've come to find, to
to guide my trembling reclusion,
is a grin of decoy, I'll use from
time to time.
Uttering in spiraling joys, nodding
in faux confidence for their ploys,
And sailing on tender waves of
a Caraval, an envoy.
A perilous blame, a virtuous charade,
All falling upon the upheaval of a valiant
knight's merciless shame.
For only I am to blame.
YOU ARE READING
Grand Illusion of Sanity
PoetryI've spent a couple of years trying to find myself, whether it was my heart or mind. The soul is a peculiar thing. It changes all the time. It is very languid, very malleable. This collection of poetry is a reflection of the discovery of myself. The...
