“Rivers of November” by Mary Overy


Rivers of November ripple and divide.
Wandering barefoot, restless dreams devour arrogance.
Beams of truth cascade frosted channels.
Light exists in the road to recovery.
Jaded tides crash.
Sitting on cold steps season's cell falls into deathly hallows.
Dracula sips a black house nightmare.
When will insomnia sing its Swan Song?
A goblet's content is a sorcerer's business.
In stone ages an unfriendly glow is cast.
A hell bound heart weeps most vigorously
Twisting trails prolong time.
Still under tragedy's shade, healing hands fold.
Legends of devotion surpass righteous leaders
Truth turns into lies
Lies writhe into truths
Frequent fantasy will own a pack of lies.