Crickets Me Calling

Crickets me calling, the river by,
To a betterment which that,
Of transience is born

Here tears are fragrant,
And a song shall be sung,
To her, queen that weaves my dreams

Memory it peers, takes form tangible,
Knifing its way,
Into my deepest fear

Only you to answer, in roses I drown,
When shall I enter?
My home, prepared!

Saxophone leaks down,
The creator’s tears
Wounds to be washing,
To never bleed again

Pass must all wit,
Into the silvered waters
Of a flowing love,
That a gift of blindness

Screamjack