Tongues of sharp-winged sadness take me. Unkempt, unsandalled and unclean, I wander whirlpools in the waiting dark, following false beacons that bold and bitter moonlight burn before me.
This is very nice Silas, especially the last two lines, "that bold and bitter moonlight/burn before me." I have a thing for alliteration. English was made to alliterate.
I really like the writing and silky mood, but go the other way about the use of alliteration, or in this instance. The poem is six lines and every line is loaded. A bit too much. Anyway, this and that other poem I read is the best I've seen on litnet for a while. Ride the writing horse.
Thanks guys for the comments. I like alliteration, but maybe I did get a bit carried away here.
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