The ghostly moon wept wax,
Mourning the death of another day;
The crown of glory, robe of flame,
In death it became.
My candle burnt on the tabletop,
Bleeding out the remnants of hope,
Through the wick which upheaved the flame.
It waited for the saffron morning to come;
To greet from the horizon’s grave again.
With teardrops glittering as diamonds,
On the glistening night of an obsidian cold,
I felt heartfelt raptures from the antique ashes,
Which cut through my skin, deep;
To release rust from my veins.
(I just heard this song called ‘Diamonds and Rust’ by Joan Baez, and it inspired me to write something.)