Old Dread

Ghostly silence,
like incense swirls,
pretence smells sweet,
fingers pleat air,
eyes meet, eyes lie yet, eyes do not dare.

Words fear this night,
cold moonlight steeps,
in white tombstones,
a hush drones high,
love mourns, kneeling on a soundless sigh.

What was is dead,
but instead now,
old dread will rise,
its three eyes red,
its cries strangled in its bloodied bed.

A fabulous prompt at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie for a “YaDu”- an ancient Burmese form of poetry that needs 5-line stanzas. The first four lines are 4 syllables each, and the last one can have 5, 7, 9, or 11 syllables. The last two lines must rhyme and climbing rhymes are required in syllables 4, 3 and 2 of both the first three lines and the last three lines of the stanza. There should be season word included as well. (Phew!) Hats off to the Burmese… this was insanely difficult!

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