Literature
The Beckon
Such a beautiful moon
The dewdrops of starlight benign
Mounting waves crashing below
The rocks at the bottom, so fine
Lest this temptation encircle me
For the night, be so ever still
A wind of beckon to call me
Send my shoulder opposing a chill
Half of me lingers above it
The other half, too frightened to risk
As though awaiting to be scolded
A child caught - Tisk, tisk, tisk
Still clinging to that of fear
Wishing to be released
Protected as a fallen
A fallen from grace in the least
Thus my wings shall spread out wide
My chains shall release their grasp
I shall pull out of existence
O death, embrace me at last