"And with the Midnight feathers,
brushing against the great walls of red seas and gloom,
come braided sonnets unto the world,
to praise the passing of our dreams.
in this pacing passion... this worldly compassion,
every single thing, is exactly how and what it seems!

the morning blush,
the midnight rush,
the world spinning still... 
onto the minutes of vast extent,
wards the racing years of lives ill-spent!
hours passing curved, and heavy,
like leaping light, cold... unbent!

the dawning widows, like leaves they went,
into their slumbers, cast and sent...
off with this poem,
my weary deed...
and onto the winds of northern speed.
to where the blue vastness, starlit by day,
nights and days over,
to not by this day!

but like peoples' due, to dates unsaid,
to promises few, like words in wed,
in rites of sea, or gapes of red...
writ solemn in black, to fears we dread...
and onto the pits of mighty oblivion...
for she will be alone, too!"

A.r. Bazian
*Apr 15th, 2013