in shallow reverie,
In hallow whispers of broken chimes;
They speak of days beyond our grasp,
of tendrils of moments encompassing the norm,
But what is the norm?
Where does such a word lead?
What prophecy does it speak
when the Lights fall and shades of dim gloom steal across our path?
Lingering traces of echoing history,
Beyond the glimpses of imagining,
When time and trial and tenuous affection
for all we once knew and all we might ever know
come crashing down in calamitous peals
like tympanies of favored days,
now spiraling like blown out candles,
and all that once was Bright and Glimmering,
simmers in the cress of
Image by: iStockphoto/Evan Austen