Hiatus

Random spirit
sketching fate
of my verses
has slept..

this light's absence
from waxless candle
instigates acrid smell

like a corpse
in search of
personal ghost

I wander,hither and thither
with arcane lamp but
in dark my self

In search of a soft glow
away from neon gods
and lachrymose faces

To pen a verse
oh just a verse to be death
of my dead verses..