The Orphic

A black veil,
But not so dark
As the sky above,
Descends into the day.

The sheer isolation
Of its enlivened shards
Fumbles with curiosity,
Disperses into revelations.

Our forlorn threads
Sway to the wind;
An omen of viscosity,
The key to unify multiverses.

Wrapped in our embrace,
Why does the innocent child howl
Whilst the wolf lies,
Atop our bed of needles?

The cherished light
Once birthed by the dawn
Stitches to gritty borders,
Scintillates into stolen eves.

Our eyeless eyes
Recover to the feels;
A discovery in summer,
The motive to ice winters.

A black veil,
But not so dark
As the sky below,
Ascends into the night.

The gilded texture
Of its non-existence
Rasps with bubbling ballads,
Blends into crimson skins.

Our iridescent cloth patches
Weave to the remnants;
A kindled smother to hunt,
The protection to save saviours.

Sheathed in our embrace,
Why does the child mournfully howl
Whilst the wolf cries,
Kissing our depth of blades?

The captivating dark
Spilled endlessly by the dusk
Absorbs to entangled sinews,
Smoothes into vanished wrinkles.

Our trembling fingers
Glide to the galaxies;
A dying star for sale,
The price to buy the priceless.

A black veil,
But not so dark
As the sky within,
Morphs into our time.

But still, choked in our embrace,
Why oh why does the child horrendously howl
Whilst the wolf dies,
Chasing our destiny of veils?

~Swathya