Poetry

#villanelle

The more I grasp sighs, the more my tears dry.
The grey fogs hinder my soft heaven spark.
So, I kneel down and pray: “Ô, The Most High!”

Lights of my days in a ring of fire cry.
The murky scars embrace the fiery dark.
The more I grasp sighs, the more my tears dry.

Anxiety madly thrives, frowns. By-and-by,
Senses’ eyes turn white and within dark ark.
So, I kneel down and pray: ” Ô, The Most High!”

Hollow, vim feels sans shape, sans voice storms mind,
Spread their void bane beyond soul embark.
The more I grasp sighs, the more my tears dry.

Will loses sight, throws up its swords, there I,
At the Door of its Lord does disembark.
So, I kneel down and pray: ” Ô, The Most High!”

Down, hot tear drops unleash the chocking sighs,
Mercy’s winds do oust the dim fogs. Hope larks.
The more I grasp sighs, the more my tears dry.
I kneel down and long pray: ” Ô, The Most High!”

S.C.P.B
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