Light lain upon a straw-strewn bed;
Look up!—the sky, it marks the time
As if to spin the seconds, since you were mine;
Pinpricked eyes, they are like stars
Peering through past suns' crimson wine.
Do you hear them speak? Are you led
To halt your breaths and silence the noise
That screams like ticking clocks? That restless voice
Upon your fireplace mantle
Where only dark blue flames burn, by you anguished choice.
The clocktower is a vile leech, and you are bled;
Would that I knew where you are!
In this dismal, shrouded haze, it can't be far—
Only far from life in burning sun and time;
A low bell tolls, and beneath the wall passes your star. |
Submission Name: Bleeding Time
