Softer than a promise chanted

Softer than  a promise chanted

in tapistry of head

for the granted taken

when the things are death.

Weaker than a prompting murmur,

best mistaken for some sky.

Do tell me of love and ardour,

about this and why!

The lights of marital nearness

on canvas of frost -

chill of immortal artist

(stars are I suppose)

to ghost denying the matter

and that fairy in yer eye.

The room you never will enter

is(n't) known as I.

Knowledge rains over letters

unbound as movement of why

and miles of meters.

Escape where do I?

This walled wall of the landscapes

in brick of light

no photograph escapes

in embassy of night

steps over the edge of autumn,

stops for an eye

and rests in the center of purple

concentrated on I,

climbs up the steepest idea of hours

walking on eggshells a potential Phoenix,

ripens the festal flowers

celebrating this

chill of an immortal artist

whilst venerating the dark,

lying to guest the monstrous,

orbiting the bark

in fastened,unbroken circle

ideal to the same

across the petals of autumn

- a flower for a name

is the momentum of knowing,

is the climax of thrill 

and wind that ever is blowing

,poem of a hill.

Farewell no dignity beckons.

I shall remain the same

changing with all my efforts

in outside of this game.