Dolls Will Come To Life

I have lived long by the rain in my soul.
Dying has been silent into the night.
I was left with gnawing at moonlight.
Like dripping onto pavement unrolled.
Living was in esteem to passing gently.
Into a dread the mystic at his arc.
So much inside as fleeing into art.
Violent grace faced by a dream faintly.
I will sing by a peak in the islands.
I will sound out at the grinning effect.
I will dwell aside a patch of me left.
With sane soul of dying angst made silent.
Coming to the sun as a trained child,
I have made my peace with Life’s trial.