Blame the Nightingale

The chapter began,
As any chapter be.
A lava dipped in purple silk,
And angels wrapped in diamond thread.
The circle pulled me downwards then,
For that,
I blame the nightingale.

The story played,
With intricate detail,
A liquid floating bubble high,
And glass pupils glazed into her head
Deep within her tale, she said;
'For that,
I thank the nightingale'.

The middle scene,
And smile bright.
A cut between both reality
And two swans of silver taking flight.
The lake then forced their fatal parting
For that,
I blame the bird of song.
For that,
I blame my nightingale.

The end announced,
With tears bleeding,
A black petrol scene of pain proceeding,
And sickness is a form of love.
In which I take the blame.
Silence is abusing me.
My heartbreak is amusing me.
For that,
I kill the music beat,
For that,
I miss my nightingale.

The end unknown,
With time so quick and heaving in my chest
So sick,
 I stand with extra carefree strength,
And fall with sudden knowledge then.
He's falling from my grasp I see,
The pain, it then takes hold of me!
In seconds lost and
Minutes burnt
I see her wings have
Now been hurt.
A single tears sees my eye.
For that,
I kiss my nightingale.
For that,
I sing,

Boneata Bell.
Written for #WW
Copyright - Please Respect
Credit to owner of the Image only.
All words are my own. All rights remain with me, the writer.


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