go on - down you go
every envy afire in the sunset sky,
falls into the hole, the dread of night.
every promised kiss by the moonlight,
puckered across the panting sea; is a lie.
the blood of autumn in vixen enthral
with the tears of the north wind,
will move the poet in us all
to write in awe of that mighty mind,
that did the first light leave behind,
to guide us back to heaven help us now;
for when the celestial lights are so declined
with the light sky dying in the westward, oh
then will empty socket eyes look down and turn
away to the long stones of the cold homestead,
for what poor wages the words did earn,
are sherbet stung; exsanguinated, bled
white and ghoul-ward down upon our knees;
to pray for sleep and to dream perchance,
of the ritual of this habitual happenstance,
for what else could spin such lies as these?