Tides of the Enigma

It was a howling, hollow

and desperate night

when the last of his might,

began to attrite

muttering and mumbling

shuttering and stumbling

he cried,

gone are the days of

innocence; for my posture of

indolence, and gilded villainous

created craters caulked and lined,

intertwined and maligned

envined with salacious inclines

he cried,

I mourn the days

when all was play and radiant rays,

childish joy, long destroyed

but being coy;

although annihilated by hands of another

introspection discovered

I’m an amputee because of me;

for that scar became scale

and the heart that was frail,

could’ve been revived

and shaped to be alive

if only, if only

death’s deal

was a little less enticing.