Thoughts of a Loner.

He writes beneath the silver gloom of midnight's decree,
In lavish halls where opulence conceals a mournful plea,
He pens a love letter in the language of decay,
Where each verse unveils a truth that time cannot allay.

He cradles his words like an empty goblet of whiskey on stone,
A symbol of luxury that leaves his spirit hollow,
Alone,
The chill of autumn winds whisper secret to his decaying rose,
While nature's lament echoes the grief only he knows.

He scrawls his regret in the rustle of a forsaken leaf,
Each syllable a requiem for dreams lost in quiet grief,
In the tempest's roar and the silence of the withering tree,
He finds reflection of love that was never meant to be,
Within the gilded decay of nights drenched in despair,
Every line bleeds a beauty,
Beauty exquisitely rare,
As the stars weep light over his decadent domain,
He confesses he bears endless pain.

For in this midnight confession where sorrow meets art,
He discovers the bitter truth of his existence,
A love so profound and tragic that it's echo set him free,

In murdering his own emptiness,
He became his lost decree.

~ Sapphirus