sad

When does the daylight wither
vaguely ling'ring on my flesh
wearily to my fingers meshed
slowly away it seeps and slithers.

And as does the noxious night arise
to haunt my melancholy eyes
and, dreary, drench, dismal, the lights
its tumult trembles in my sight.

Have not I been before forlorn
weaving waves of muddled wonder
into my heart so torn asunder
even somber in the day less worn?

Yet morose as is the moon's ascent
plunging pitifully through the clouds
from depths of sad myst'ry it bounds
still matches not my dark descent.

For though is rising the horizon
mirthful in its singing solace
unity in its jubilance
I have no portion of its place.

What cast me from deserve`d light
into the bleak, deserted night
yet my own guilty mind in fright:
fractured mirages in my sight.