empty canvases turn to ghosts when night falls

if I prayed unto the pied piper—

would he paint a pretty picture—

with purples and plums and poison—

ghosts dance outside my window

spirits soar above sacred rivers—

staining the purity of crystal shores—

silently suffering for a choir song—

prophet! thing of evil—prophet still, if bird or devil—

ne’er a naïve nymph nor naiad—

nostalgic nocturnes rusts the night—

bow to noble necromancers—

condemn me

lust for love is lust for death—

lamentations for life lost—

a lily for the lord—

labyrinth.