The Untamed Sorrow

The moon reflects
weariness, speaks a
forbidden tongue-like
a mirror in the coagulating air,
a nascent sorrow in the cabaret of life,
leaving behind its skin of dreams.

Fillets of grief are
sausages to a cloudy eye
a perished tongue, raucous itch
of a dying hearth, of a charred home
silvery insomnia on the bosom
of burnt whispers that cajole
the journey of hugging sorrows
endless love

A naïve heart
that bade a final goodbye
amidst sickening departures
and castrated whims .