By Elvis Dumle
What’s to come is still unsure,
But the moon shows my peace is undone
As my bed cries; it’s too late
To go to sleep tonight.
I’ve called to the wind
To give me some music to relieve my nervousness
But the airs have my windows struck
In terrible verses.
And then I heard the night
Singing, in fear-furrowed concerto;
Sentencing my soul into chafe-sedating darkness
With my heart at an unwitting dagger point
As both my ears suffer from
The classical rendition of trouble.
Then my spirit became cured
Of its daring dancing brilliance
Realizing the guilt of a crime against love.
Of how I’ve abandoned to suffer
The affections of a loving soul
For a facade of beauty
Wrapped with the ideal of value.