the polished glass glittered
in the afternoon rare sun on a rainy day;
and I wept another long hurricane
into nothingness,
imprisoned,   
in my own wealth
of pitying.

shall I ever come in contact
with the glaring rays,
I might as well be turned into dust;
so I skitter away towards the
brass rings,
burning myself a tattoo of the
cavalry.

long since the moon
came haunting my daydreams,
I have drawn yet another weary wish
in the starry skies,
of my proclivity;
but that proved me not enough
as I let go of another garbled sigh
that shot through the nocturne
like a rabid on fire.

I have long since lost hope,
setting my race steady forth
without much prudence.