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Sonnet 8

I barely hear those noises from behind,
When opened are the gates of elder dream;
The moon I reached was not that hard to find
In treasure of the night that's now supreme.

My simple voice cannot reveal the truth
Of blades and flesh in ordinary space,
But let me glance at them with eyes of youth
And be a star to whom you can replace

A skin of olden race. Mistakes you've done
Will stick upon your mouth like seven thorns,
Because one life means more than all the fun,
And guns are weak in front of greasy horns.

No matter what you do, remember this:
The silence jumps from madness to abyss.


Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
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