When the Hour Fell Bleak

when the hour fell bleak
a rippling spied
the outlier

appearing
in ragged reproach

an artifact without
precedence
that spoke of adoration
dire

ere a doting hope
sang
its parting prelude

from where i now sit

in a cold eclipse
of dreariness
laced
with mistled tears

spent aloft
these long planes
of bondage

i fondly resigned

my mind’s production
flashing its garish marquee
for all to see

foreshadowing
disparity profound

were it not sustained
by wispy druids
of pigment piqued

no further
query

averted eyes
trained vigilant

this chronicle
of maddened youth

swore your rigid head
invalid

with never more
truth
scorned a lustful red

as prideful irony
now reigns
in the void
of expectation

Author: Max Meunier

Feminist. Ailurophile. Musician. Poet. Human.

3 thoughts on “When the Hour Fell Bleak”

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