As light pass to dark and gayles fill the night
So too does joy pass from glee to sorrow
Would it be nobler, pray, to hide this fright
Or to courage, gently, seek to borrow.
Icicles, glossy, sharp, and to the point.
Formed into shards of barbed hearts ache
Imagin’d, perhaps, but pierce and disjoint
Gargoyles jabbing, stabbing, give me the shake.
Come to flesh, or so it would surely seem
These monstrosities cause pain, struggle, and strife
Madness, then, course through my veins – friends would deem
As angst, for eternity, claim my life.
To sleep, to rest once more from this
In the arms of Morpheus flee to Dís.
Conversations with the Muses 