black poetry

i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst
out of the deep and the dark
do not grieve that it is over
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
it was the autumn of the year
truely
risen from the dead
look out upon the stars, my love
sleep, gray brother of death
the ancient songs
when a deed is done for freedom
behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel