A Melancholic Ode Lost to Night

I thought once to capture
A dream I misplaced 
Pale with primrose 
And a milk porcelain soft face

A rainbow-made rope
Bursting cinders of shapes
Lost in the spectrum 
Of the night mouths blood taste 

Spilling nickel & ore 
Melting ivy and holly  
Plucked berry by bow 
Stripped of the morning birds chopping 

An axiom reposed
By the pale-horse white grin 
The known waters of strife 
Where the chest had caven in. 

The deeper that I go
The river takes me with it,
The longer that I hold
The blackening breaches bluer lips.

No matter where it rolls
In this stagnant sleep, I go inward
A thudding-rumbling felt
Where its solitude, never enters. 

Struggling against its tow 

Coursing down an eerie stream

To the great below,

Its murky waters, unforgiving.