Terminus

The pantomimic-black wings veiled the sky
And sealed my throat with wintry-chill coldness. 
The last of lament has escaped my cry—
My nerve was lost in that dampened boldness. 
The shaken leaves opened the fallen wound
And dressed the distressed with woe-tangled wind. 
The air breathed isolation and impugned 
Those who melancholically maligned. 
So I indulged my mind in dementia
And travelled the dry road of illusion. 
My sanity was lived in absentia, 
And my story—a lucent abstrusion. 
Such was the warmth I had to bear at night;
Such was the tender darkness of delight.

Dale Chou
2003-01-01