The feathery one
Romancing with the breeze
Comes as ‘manna’
Into the grayness
Of my dungeon
I chew my quill
Onto the rustic walls
Standing on wrecks of kinship
With chasms of a leaden soul
Crimson flows out
‘in style’
And the sun fears to scorch
A tryst
Of
Promises
‘Never to wilt’
Escorts me
In a chivalrous exit…
To the graves.