Ironical Communion (amber)

Ephel Duath

Sweet Irony,
 hits my tangled troubles, and frees this
 blade
 from the stranding line
 Cynically slides,
 Through dusty gemstone,
 To offer a soft respite to my ethereal
 plagues.

 Let me cover with silence,
 The figures around me:
 A velvety sigh on the noisy stammering.

 Grow to a physical essence,
 And heavily walk on this living mosaic
 Called pain...
 I can hear the breath of every dowel:
 My demons are waiting...

 Conceal this fool architecture
 From my (singing) conviction.
 Blind my cyclopian, trifling dreads
 And dethrone the useless days
 From my infested eyes.
 Irony, my care.