The Nightingale

[Rikochet]

In my slumber;

The night is as dead dreams

Mutilated;

Woven together

So bright in their anguish

 

In my awakening;

The day is as a beast of light

Searing hot;

Everyday rotting

So gray in its sickness

 

In my flight;

The world is as a morbid tapestry

Of failed choices;

Sewn together

So small in their vanity

 

[i am the Nightingale

Reeking of Cacophony

In my awful shrieks

Creation's symphony]