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Brimstone shades

in shallow reverie,

In hallow whispers of broken chimes;

They speak of days beyond our grasp,

of tendrils of moments encompassing the norm,

But what is the norm?

Where does such a word lead?

What prophecy does it speak

when the Lights fall and shades of dim gloom steal across our path?


Lingering traces of echoing history,

Beyond the glimpses of imagining,

When time and trial and tenuous affection

for all we once knew and all we might ever know

come crashing down in calamitous peals

like tympanies of favored days,

now spiraling like blown out candles,

and all that once was Bright and Glimmering,

simmers in the cress of










Image by:  iStockphoto/Evan Austen