Sanguine Sorrow

Where has my loveth gone?
Through thorn thickened brambles,
I cannot find thy sweet sycamore.
Daily verses become my rhymes,
Through shadows fortunes I did not see.
Stilly sleeping on archangels back,
On willow stemmed wings that lay with torture,
Today my salvation has flown completely.
Desolate lands on travertine tears,
Mark their place.
Laugh not,
For I hold no mercy upon my queen.
Maiden's hands may be fair,
but cross thy path
And devils staff shall strike thee fear.
Dance young squander,
Circles around my feet,
Laces to silhouettes,
Illusions to dreams,
I fear nothing more
Than my own sanguine sorrow,
Where has my loveth gone?
Once more.

©Ashley Leslie 2013