The tiny insistent
chirp of crickets,
time still unappeased;
melts hell to linear
solemnities, smiling
somehow pleased.
An endless collective
book of days
authoritatively
sought to speak,
as dormant chimes
lay fingering flame,
logic devolved to heat.
Forcefully imbedded
sonic gems
settled in the
atmosphere,
leaping like strays
from half-formed auras
of questionable
tenderness.
We feast on those
we fear subdue
us, curse them
for fallen stars,
as prisms refract
what might have
been through the lens
of what we are. |