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Mar 2019
mages

Searing cold vibrations
ringing in the well;
shifting sands in the moonlight
obscuring the only trail.

A song sinking, shattered
upon a dissonant reef;
pregnant clouds low flying
over the tidal grief.

Voices in crescendo
of sharply focused gall;
severed strands fraying
in the fabric of the soul.

Frail wings in the darkness
fleeing a ruptured storm;
footprints in the desert,
leagues away from home.

Pale cheeks in black boxes
hewed from fated pine;
black lace and white candles
sputtering in the rain.

Reckless thirst rippling
placid pools of bliss;
a rusty mirror reflecting
faint imprint of a kiss.

Fragrant guile oozing
down a fickle brow;
faithless eyes drowning
in the melting of the snow.

Wormy bark peeling on
bent sapling in the glen;
a crown of weighty branches
bowing to the wind.

Such are the graying images
painful in the grasp;
kaleidoscopic fragments
of life's fragile glass,

embedded in the depths
of memory's own thick balm
congealing in the ashes
of a time long since gone.
John Newlin
Written by
John Newlin  82/M/Vista, CA
(82/M/Vista, CA)   
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