Magnifique

.

Comes a cold rain of salt and a cruel dash of grey

In the blue skies above where the sun is setting,

Time has come to a halt, the weather gone astray,

In this land they call love we should be forgetting…

In the night stars appear, shining bright and many,

Strangely this sight warms not my lone soul now submerged,

At the end of the pier flickers a light any

Would follow in strong storms, by its green color urged.

“Hope”, I would have once said, fooled by it as the Great,

Hoping it could repair what had long been broken

But years pass I’m afraid; love, though not into hate,

Can turn into despair, in burden its token.

The wind loudly howling and lightning then thunder

On the wuthering heights of this poor human mind

Seem now to be scowling down at me, far under;

In my heart rise great frights for no more am I blind…

.

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