The Valley Of Mystification

For a poet's heart doesn't know love until the abyss of time envelops it,
And the sweet seraph of the sultry sepulchre serenades it.
Having that said, the poison creeps through my veins and is spreading to my heart,
Seeping out through my body and flowing into the night.
For a poet's lyrics are septicemia to the soul yet vague to the mind,
Ensnaring the senses and incinerating all doubt.
The ultimate enigma of this life shall never be known,
Yet the ephemeral night continues into the morrow.

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