DARK ANGEL AND MOONLIGHT

INVISIBLE HUES

I must say, in this way,

there have been no more visionary souls

that dwell along these roads -

this is what had been told,

and this old story was sold,

that had been written so long ago.

It is late on an old January night;

as I watched the moonlit sky-

that shines its beauty in my darkened room.

The air is cold-

as the crying wind is being bold,

like it is telling a story of ancient hues

that soon gave me the blues-

and it isn't even June.

I have written so many stories throughout the years

where the seasons and the memories-

has left me in so many tears.

As time, kept moving on by

I had watched the autumn leaves fall fast

that made me think of my broken past

where love never lasts.

Oh, how this pain,

brings on the pouring rain,

leaving me feeling so drained -

making me feel I was about to go insane.

This is a type of pain-

that makes my spirit sinking

and I write it all down in my own bloodstained ink.

Where it is that leaves my heart always bleeding

in an agony of lost time

where old memories play games on the mind

of my own unnoticed life,

this is something I could never fake

nor ever want to, would you?

In this dark shrouded town,

all anyone could see are the hateful clowns

holding their heads down

as they walk the town.

Leaving so many broken

as if they were some kind of token-

where their words are always being spoken.

And they were never joking.

This old town is owned with lies

keeping people lost most of the time,

this is a place I had never wanted to be.

Now all I hear are those painful cries in the night for peace,

I feel I will never get any sleep

and if I do, I will always have to darken dreams

that makes me scream.

Oh, how I would write in so many sonnets,

that seemed to be the key-

to this ancient district, of the spying eyes

that like to make so many cries

by telling them so many lies.

Where the controlling of the passes of life,

where people are never nice-

all they wanted to do was fight.

But, who will be the ones -

that will fall into the trap of these so-called cleaver rats?

In this cold long winter

I would watch the blackbirds fly

and hide in the trees that are losing their leaves.

-Judy Emery © 1987 The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery