As if it changeth aught, this fleeting hour,
As if each moment brings its solemn might,
As two leaves on a carpet of dull power,
A darker visage doth wait in the night.

Among a thousand dawns I saw it rise,
Like an axe ‘gainst a branch’s mocking grin,
Like a cloak on a post ‘neath the skies,
And yesternight’s croak, alone within.

Yet far doth thunder the morrow’s call
On glassy slabs with a soul in a cup,
Feigning more gravely, in straw I stall,
But wings fear not the faded habit’s flap;

Weary they settle on sleeves now torn,
They gaze, they speak, seem to comprehend,
These eyes of mine cannot adorn
The mount’s light, too soon it doth end.

Again I lie in the bed’s embrace,
Resting on the void I in chest conceal,
Believed I in hope’s whispered grace,
The evening’s shout, the night’s ordeal.

‘Mid cats and pavements by sun decayed,
‘Mid countless thoughts in words so few,
That mayhap wound, and so I said,
That mayhap heal when I thee view.

A world more fair than thou know’st not,
Coloring with hands not thine,
Frozen I lean, my wings are caught,
Fragile and black, alone in line.

For alone I am, with thee I stay,
Mayhap I desire, alone with thee, this way.

Marco Delrio

Alone

SOCIAL & CONTACTS

Mail: delriomarco.md@gmail.com