Whistles of Warn

Sullen the night and dastardly dim
For wither the angels come out from within
Curse thy fragments of holy adorn
Fill thee with praises though whistles of warn

Fateful her life in tempest wind's gate
Slowly though spoken thy devil and hate
To thither go or in mind to break
Loosely blood as wide as the lake

Spread thy frame as sickly ghost
Inner being mumbles her boast
Lastly she sings of mid-moon's flower
And drops the petal, thy maiden's last hour

Reviews

[Deborah Leah Krempa]

A lovely dark write. Nicely written poem. Thank you for sharing. Debileah

[Jean P. Prudhomme]

"Lastly she sings of mid-moon's flower
And drops the petal, thy maiden's last hour"

great line
wonderful poem

the rhyme scheme and rhythms excellent.

i'm impressed

[Pax Analog]

Cool incantation.

I can hear this delivered in a crimson-toned Dario Argento-style virgin sacrifice flick.

"Whistles of Warn" -- what an intriguing title!

Fine work. More!

[DavidRyan]

What can I even say about this, other than it is brilliant? Am I on the wrong track that it's about losing virginity? I guess you can never be on a wrong track when it comes to deciphering poetry -- getting your own meaning out of it -- but that's what I took from it. It's amazing, dear. Well done.

[Wunderlich]

This is awesome. Excellent flow and word choice. Great job.