Coming to it then Falling Away
Mustn't it be dimly lit, the trash-filled halls,
evening's uneventful sky;
mustn't it be a limitless effort with none exorcized
and for those furious contrition in the fields of grace,
momentarily, emblematic, and, then, hunkering down,
trying to be avoided.
Tellingly incognito, fettered til distorted
a carnage of sparrows, of ex-compatriots
superimposed with burdock, cloves,
thistle and clods of earth;
events retried,
doubted;
facts, just that; the grey of the just past.
A message not sent, others reprised,
as much as that shortage of finales,
a latter-day grieving resorbed,
something that could have been said that was gorgeous.
I am nowhere nearer, nowhere farther;
a charade for some,
magic to others.