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A spring epiphany at night, broken by dawn’s steadfast approach
commands imagery that might answer questions that few would broach.
This gentle harbinger’s whispers, which ensorcel desires kept,
are trite polite conversations found false when certainty is met.
Empty are solicitations born of rapidly moving eyes.
We can accept invitations like these, and then become ghouls when we rise.
Our hearts consumed by sudden loss as we cling to our masonry,
which is fast overgrown by moss, unless guarded attentively.
What feyish gift that’s enveloped within alchemical allure,
bearing seeds your mind developed that are seductively demure
and transmutes your hope from reason, but nevertheless is a lie
that your heart considers treason, yet, delight your homunculi.
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