A Day That Ends In Night

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We Look For Holy Moments, 
And In Looking, Overlook

Moments Blessed And 
Filled With Things
From Mountains We Once Shook.

Small Events Unfolding, 
Each One Smaller, Briefer Still.

As Cavernous Creases 
We Call Brains, 

Migrations Fill.
Spark-lit Seconds 

Speak For Us 
While Destiny Darkens Past.

Pointing And Branched 
With Lightning Flare 
To Futures Guided, Where 

We May Draw Away

Or Follow Our Natural Inclination 
Through Your Waveless Spray.

Shotgunning Every Now 
Somehow; 

To Cast 
Bigger Pictures,  
Brighter Futures,

Holy Moments Blended, 
Bending To Form 
Crooked Sutures.

Aye,
 
Care Not Weary One
Traveler And Father To All.

Mind’s Eye Behemoth,  

Where In Grains 
As In Pearls 

Do You Lie;

Barbaric And Windswept,
Dressed

In White Collared Time,
Grafted And Stylized; 

With 

Only Your
Teacups Remaining.

Your Grin, No Repast, 
Discomforts All.

Bears The Stain,  
Of The Holy Moments Gain.

Slanted Slivers 
Of Hanging Pictures,  

A Youth With Glasses Scanning
Hills Of Gifted Summer’s Passion, 

Pages Each In Need Of Fanning.

Now, 

With Hallowed And Bellowed Tear,
You Will Steer 

Amongst Those Mighty
Many Memories 

Of Futures Past.

This You Give Us, 
Single Sight.

The Now Of Every Thought To Last:

A Day That Ends In Night

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