Outrageous Whispers

The pale fire of melancholy
seeks to devour my heart.
Yet, as the moon before the sun
from it no spark will come.

Unprovoked this outsider 
waits to annex my soul.
Its outrageous whispers
gouges a pit, anticipates my fall.

This despoiler rejoices:
My mind awoke
as if mourning a brother,
not fired by dawns rays.

This contester of my mind
knows not my Creator’s fire,
who aroused by my travail
engulfs the deepest pit.

© Craig A Roberts, 2022

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