Sunday, June 29, 2014

An Empty Age Re-Membering

Like embers in a cooling fire
they sit,
mourning morning
gone.

Chalk masques floating on waves of smoke,
rolling words
long.

"Fill my cup of life
young blood,
sweet as a freshly bloomed rose."

And so they chant,
entranced,
caught up,
folded within the creases of their faces.

(Shriveled apples fallen,
lying on an open field.)

Warm light flickers flames
licking up to touch,
and burns.
Ashes fall,
as up the fiery pieces ride the heat.

Exposed to one another's light,
the aged mortals weep:
"Give back our lives
let us
our peace of mind forever keep!"

Their cries are kicked and tossed about,
the wind it passes by.
It lifts and turns
and only stops to sigh,
then it starts to rain.

It pours.
The water flows to find a heart,
a token of re-membrance
but
the outcome more than disappoints,
for all that's left is less.

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