My spangled dreams are builded all of teak
From ruined forests deep in warm Brazil,
Where roll the ugly mud flats and the hill
Whereon pale-sheeted ghosts cavort and shriek
Below a sickle-bladed moon antique
And otherworldly as the dim stars spill
A sickly light upon each stream and rill
Across this deadland haunted, bare and bleak.
And so I ride the nightmare as the stars
Send down slim shafts of esoteric light,
A panoply of long and silver bars
That frame this dark and gorgon-conjured night,
Below that evil moon I watch depend
Above this witch-cursed world where spells contend.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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This is one of your "darker" writes. Very forboding and eerie.
Lady D
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Michael this is a thrilling adventure. i'm glad i stole a couple minutes to read. an antiqued moon...what an idea! delightful! Dannie
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I love the image here and as usual this is a perfect sonnet. I know it's correct but the word "builded" just doesn’t work for me.
Love,
Amera♥
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