A poem for vocab maniacs

CLOSURE OF A DULCET MASQUERADE

Oh how my hopes are wasted with,
The setting of the sun,
As the sky inhales its sapphire light,
So my tumult has begun…


Then how my Lady Somnolence,
Comes to hold my shattered hand,
I will not hear the Spartan’s fife,
As I fall asleep tonight…


The haunting, pale darkness,
The eye of the curmudgeon wanders,
Through a stoic abeyant void,
Psyche’s wicked colloid...


The silence holds not sanity,
Just a concave minded wretch,
Yet, quiescence is a comfort,
To me a forlorn derelict...


Specters dance on withered fences,
While hindsight draws me hither into the trenches,
For only there can I see my shattered
Hand, betwixt with moonlight braids…


The solacing joint betrays its breath,
Elemental senses no longer employed,
Palpitating marbled chamber dies,
Thoughts of privation engulf my mind…


The bleeding heart of excruciating misery,
Will be a part of everlasting memory,
Within the twilight garden grim,
The petals of crimson sway…


Learn all the ways there are to die,
Rumination of the act,
Await the tears to call me home,
I hear my own silent drone…



My mind is like my sorrows now,
I will never dream again, I vow,
A glimpse of what I used to be,
Blurs the line of reality…