suicide poetry

a pen of steel
all those treasures that lie
along a river-side
babylon-where i go dreaming
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
evidenced in the glimmer in your eyes
high-born race
but i cannot read you now
the darkness rolls upward
i know not where
a thousand silent years ago
in an old chamber softly lit
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
musing, between the sunset and the dark