My Ethic Vase

Such a stream—a force astray—my phantom muse. The

Nights—to yearn a nightmare. And such mystic this flame.

The sun—once a storm, a trestle beneath darkness. But

Speak the word, my fairest gloom—and such contradiction.

And one’s vow rarely extends its reach, my ethic vase.

Such passion, content the fantastic—a neighbor’s envy.

Years increase the fever; and prose—a web of ghosts. My

Ethic vase, the moon has shattered—a marvelous love.

But mystic bleeds—a wave of terror—a vault of haunted

Houses. Such essence—this transformation—alchemic

Gold. And near a dungeon—she stands—glorified in

White wings. I pause—to ponder retreat—my heart wailing

Razors. To what extent, my ethic vase—a petal tears. And

Such a stream—a force astray—my phantom muse.