The arched back of a withering willow,
aging cold perhaps too old,
offering its limbs to lay down its blood,
to caste its shadow with the code of its own,
while i am being wingless as a dormant stone,
its essence sneezes with the dazzling heavens,

still at the brink of eternal sleep,
hallucinates the sheep

forlorn is the valley of troubling men,
of dreary days, of nights i've been scouring!
they aren't here my love, they aren't real!
i could hear a voice echoing as loud as thunder,
who is it i wonder, where have you been?
my golden days of reign, my lusty nights devour!
my only treasure as slim as disturbant-rain!

embrace me i've forever been in pain,

eternal pain of withering flesh & bone
who doesn't get aroused by a sweet moan?

© ZiaD