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
