Lull

Turning the tinted, yellow pages,
Weathered and somewhat torn,
I remember a light that has long been,
Seeking life in things unborn.

Darkness was provoked, stillness was stirred,
Thoughts scurried in that tamed chaos,
A thumping heart on the platter,
Served with love-garnish, and bitter hate-sauce.

That storm lost me many things,
My sight, and that boyish charm,
And I had strayed past my boundary,
Into a sanctuary, free from further harm.

I was stout and stubborn once, but still,
My daemons have chased me away,
Showing once again him who rules,
That the Devil still has sway.

My songs are now no more sweet,
Neither does my write reek of pain,
A glum shadow of disinterestedness,
Musing over the loss of a prolonged disdain.

My Nightingale has lost her melody, it seems,
Ahhh! Her voice now is full of scorn,
And I sit by my window, contemplating,
The night that settled from a glorious morn.