Poetry

The Night

The cry of the violin,
As it wails in the shadows of,
A nameless and dim night,
And as the waters of the unshed,
Tears flow and drown him,
In the music of his last mortal sin.
The sky bleeds in recondite colors,
A fallacy unhidden by the tepid,
Lusters of an embrace never felt,
O Wailing Violin,
Shuddering and Screaming,
Wordless and soundless whispers,
Unheard in the shadows,
Of the nameless night.

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