The moon, my yearning's aim, veiled in wild grass,
A shoulder of branch sought, mocked through shadowed glass.

A song of love sung, but memories blush in reply,
Passions sculpted, in thought's realm they lie.
A sweet scent embraced, in cotton fantasy's dust,
A soul I crave, where fear finds its trust.

In longing's hold, my heart finds bittersweet ease,
By sorrow's hand consoled, my spirit finds release.
Anguish my guide, in suffering's tide,
My soul abides.

#Midnight'sSong
© 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑧𝑎𝑤𝑖𝑐𝑐𝑎