Come the idle hour of midnight
Shadows rise into the hollow
Beckoning the toilsome plight
To reckon through the isle in wallow
Seas succumb to fate’s abandon
Churning brisk aberrant tides
Writhing in our indignation
Spindly wraiths with spiraling eyes
Ashen petals land subduing
Withered hopes of exaltation
Bleak as truth doth summon rue
Pray our embrace bequeath salvation
I Prefer Not To.
Max, or Not 
What a poetic capturing of the long, dark nights of the soul! Truly haunting.
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Thank you for such a lovely compliment, Christine. Your responses always reflect your level of mindfulness of readership. You’re a true gem. Pyrope, to be exact. With accompanying Kunzite and Kyanite.
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