He preferred dim to light
A silhouette was better than shadows
He knew drops better it seemed
Than full bottles that poured
There is no nuance between age and rust
Still he knew wrinkles were better than dust

His folly was a lust for any utterance
Either wise or solitary in its echo of the past
His ego believed the discovery of his destiny
Would awaken dreams choking gasping
As the realization of his desires
Would become all the moons tide aspires

He felt the bond between the fire of imagination
And the loss of love that would not wait
The embers fold themselves into disappointment
As what once burned dripped slowly in the night
There is no purpose to solitary confinement
And love cannot grow in faraway sentiment