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