An Infusion

The wind cries out for me,
A wolf howl so shrill,
Borne on wings of a rabid dream,
To perturb the state of my waking conscious.
Guessing games are played by two,
Staking sunset hues
Of life, and of the oblivion.
A tragedy too soon forgotten
Even as it is awoken everyday
By fair hands, yet so rotted,
Who are we to stay away?
Lesions from real life
Intrude upon the one we have made
Infusing a mild darkness
But overcome by our thoughtless play.