SOLILOQUY

Spider-silk soliloquy~
Insipid sermon song,
Pervading the thrum of those duskiest of dreams,
Of my sweet, sadistic muse.
- A tedious tale, poorly told
Festooned with the faded red ribbons of my poverty -
And when this little paper aeroplane,
Founders in its pseudo sky,
Of tangled verbal debris,
And when defeat glistens, like an arctic sword unsheathed,
The midnight tears are born, protruding,
Creeping stealthily from hollow-socket eyes,
(Lonely, still-born souls,cluttering the path to their own private Purgatory,
So cold...)
If these teardrops could speak,
With ghost-tongues of their own,
Like so many tiny minstrels, falling so softly from grace,
I think,
They'd say:
"Shut up."