Corridors of candle light,
A vigil, a defiant glow.
My eyes have grown accustomed to the dark,
No longer do I stumble, but arms outstretched
Hands clasp the sweet poison of Achlus.
Must we drink one last gulp from your chalice?
Insouciant dreams, heady nectar;
The wild beating of wings.
Spring blossom falls softy like snow flakes,
And then lie strewn.
Lambs sprawled in a field.
Far away a cockerel cries.
The night is long and unforgiving,
Yet once again we must confront the dawn,
Eyes sore for those that we did mourn.
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