Mortality is pressing on my soul
unmerciful, he melts the sky away
and nothing, save the solemness and cold
can penetrate the passing of the days.
He whispers in the dullness of the wind
at midnight, with a tainted melody.
In dreams of dying lovers he descends
devouring yet another memory.
Between the stars I see his tresses dance
arising like a misty winter breath.
His kiss is long, he pulls me to romance;
unending light-- the beckoning of Death.
The echoes fade, the moment of release;
the spirit falls to never ending peace.
Adding your comment:
I've recently written my first attempt at a sonnet and improve as I write more.
Dee
