Purposefully formless rhyme about windchimes. |
Through wood-hewn spires, She thus passes, Wrought of Purity, above the masses, She is my Lady, She is my Delight, She is my Lady of the Night. Bringing Peace and diminishing Pain, In the darkness, She’ll not feign, She is the epitome of thought, Of places, memories, and joys once sought. Soothing my torment, in one windful stroke, Solace and wonder, She doth invoke, I beg Her song, to never cease, To bless my ear with a Blissful piece. I cry before Her, in my most insightful places, Her presence the one, to dull the traces, Of the past-lamenting lovers’ faces, And eases the burning of passed disgraces. Cresting majestic mountains, and flooding valleys sweetly, Cutting through stone, and I, completely, She kisses my ear, and makes love to my senses, She betrays me not, and lulls my defenses. Through my window, and over my bed, She drapes upon me and fills my head, This yearn of mine, to hear Her song, To know in Peace, I might belong. If ever astray from the path I roam, The thought of Her, shall take me home, Grind my teeth and break my bone, My strength, Her Song will heal and hone. Pine I do for Her to sing, That within my ear, her pitch will ring, I fall before Her with streaming eyes, She the one to end my cries. She hence mollified my every tear, And all my woes will She readily hear, While closing drenched eyes, of sightless stares, She fills my coelum of carking cares. “Drown me now, in Song Divine, Fulfill my lust, for wholly I am Thine, You now become Healer for I am weak To you faithful I come, with answers to seek.” I grant myself up, to her my care-giver, For She is a goddess, my Grace She’ll deliver, She is my existence, she is my Light, She is my Lady of the Night. Finis. |