Lost Myself, I
In pleasure trove of realistic blots of drab silhouette in cerulean dots
Wherefore the sun obscures the highest fort, make the shadows long yet the form is short
In the cry of eyes, the gloves of mores along the throng of vampirish marches
In king’s boudoir ‘twixt incarnadine sight of contradicting poles in gelid plight
Albeit the crystal dew in barren field is an amber-filled of nugatory shield
In a rainbows pave of a unicorns glide in a godly mind of a ghostly hide
In the shining blade of a dreadful talon, in an iffy balance of frightful felon
In rabbinic tongue of a crooked harangue is a jade’s façade to a beetle’s dung
The blithe of boondocks as crown of thistle is a grandiose pyre of earthen vessel
In nutshell world of a mortal’s carapace by a rosy pale of a thousand faces
Is a fulcrum site to a shaking place to a turtle’s shade in a dotted trace
Like a hidden gold in delightful grace of unborn chick in untrammeled solace