Into the Dark

If a book's treasured page worth a single cent

And the leaves of the autumn trees are wildly innocent,

The spirit lies six enormous feet below the ground

These dreams of thousand days are legibly hell bound.

Water flows like the holy river somewhere in the dark

Splashing and curling, running and galloping, sweeping in lark,

Stoicism settles, spreading like a plague in the empty room

Afraid, roses shatter, Dark Prince cowers, shifting through the gloom.

Eyes blurring, the poor bud sprawls in iridescent dimension

Wilted, withered, even before the germane of becoming burgeon,

Long hours of lingering and traveling like a lost little lamb

Song of the dead, solemn, gravely alluring, ears covered, block the hum.

Stop trying, just trail the sorcerer's ignominious secrets and wonders

Close the eyes, obstruct the heart; it's time for rest and slumber'

Cut the right hand, sheathe the skin, bare the naked soul

Into the dark, scream, drift away, forget the world and fall.