INSANITY

The moon sets on the brow of this night,
As his fiddle calls out for her.
Her gambol all-consuming; he surrenders.

Accompanied by tender notes from the drying river,
She trickles into his restless sleep,
Growing with the zest of a sprout,
Burgeoned by his wilderness.

Behold! The charms of this voluptuous beast,
On whose venom the untamed quench their thirst.
She walks tall among condemners,
Nonchalant of death or mercy.

And she lies wide-awake in the entrails of slumber-
Unceasing movement in the land of the dead,
Colours in the canvas of pale misery…

Rise to glory O Enchantress!
Purple cape on my ivory skin.