where shadows dance and whisper secrets to the winds. My descent is solemn,
each plummet a note in the sonorous requiem of the forgotten open sky.
the cobbled stones, stories long unspoken trapped in my liquid
essence, yearning for release into the murky gutters of oblivion.
they scorn the touch of liquid sorrow upon their decaying skin?
Umbrellas gather above, shield-like, mocking the abyssal dance
of grief I perform in the twilight.
of melodies older than time itself, woven in the weft of the wind.
I am but a waif, a stranger in the medieval cathedral of the night.