Forlorn I lay at the edge of August.
Swallowing the salted wine.
Oceans build within my seething lids,
only to slip from the pale 'neath the eyes of mine.
Without a breath I'm cast
to realms unbeknownst to me.
And whence again from that day forth,
I shed my elegance to thee.
And under mighty walls I hide,
and all the dreams that I had that died
are washed out with the tide.
From behind to recite the future,
floating by on that one last day.
A fool became from my inherant knowledge,
to be sent into the Winters frothed grey.
This was the lair of the wholesome Angel,
the home of which I was so fond.
She is the Hostess of my tragedies
with her Oceanic eyes and her hair of golden Blonde.
And in the ocean of time i quiver,
and as the serpent wrapped around my neck she slither,
for all I know is bitter.
Whence I flew over mouring dew in awe to reach the sky.
Alone she stood inside the woods, anticipating that clouds would cry.
In upward glance, her seeming trance, he presence so Divine.
That strangely odd manifestation of God, never see through the eyes of mine.
But soon to twist, destiny's fist, and soon come swinging down.
Like dullened arrows and aimless sparrows the eternity for which I'm bound.
So take my tears in which to swim, that forlorn spirit whines.
And lay beside my tattered whims in hopes fruitful times.
May we be united at the land where we can be Kings and Queens!
Forlorn I stand at the end of August,
gazing seaward into the fall.
I can feel the wind get colder,
and I can hear the voice of Destiny call.
I taste the last of the tears,
thinking back of her upward glance.
This was to be the last of the ones
and in the oceans of red and melancholy I dance!
And on this plateau I am king!
And on these icy shore of wisdom I sing,
no more to heal my broken wings.
