Woeful Depictions

I have taken the hues of life,

to create my own greyish path,

with a palette of griefful bright,

and a dreadful veil for eyes.


But once thought the unlight,

its cooled daughters can't die.


Immortally they show us the cries,

out of our ancestors' dead mouths,

to shine a way of dying, without lies.


Those orbs of brilliance in the night,

its mortal lustre is hopefully tight.


I have tainted my nails on gloom,

promising me something new,

to eject my spirit out of times,

and feel the signs of a new rise.


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