lithedark

Forget the first and last you’ve seen of life,
White-washed canvas hides the horror of strife,
Jaded visions cloud the mind, blind the eyes,
Beget the anguish, the darkest lies.

Use the eyes to look outside, view the curse,
Avoid hostile, selfish, and the perverse,
For they are out to kill the ones who stand,
Tall above the rest, heads above the sand.

Within the mind your hidden conscience dwells,
Seek it, lift it, delivered from the hells.

Raindrops clash against the window pane,
Playing softly, sweet notes and such a melody.
Oh, but for life to hold such a beauty as rain,
To drown out somber songs of despondency.

Sitting and waiting, late at night, for clouds
To part and show a glimpse of silver moon,
My eyes upon that ghostly night-time shroud
That dances always, always, to the raindrop tune.

I close my book, tucking pen in page, making
A mark with which to return to simple rhyme,
Listening to that musical pane, its breaking
Halting melody that beats with the passing of time.

Wow, my first piece in iambic pentameter. It isn’t perfect, but it’ll do. Thanks for reading.