A Lasting Light
The withering is so very beautiful.
Eyes build translucent shells for themselves.
there is a falling inward,
mouths move beneath appearance,
Expressions of mortality
falter,
as the mind begins to see
its own shallow reflections,
an understanding,
that all last breaths are a first kiss.
Atrophy inwardly shapes its own chrysalis.
Old man flowering
in a thin soup of himself,
a seasoned musk shaping iconic effigies,
of youth and age.
He rules the kingdom,
of the winter moon
Crone, touches her wilting lips,
the movement seduces angels.
A papery rose unfolds one more time,
Decline revives her, with yet more
weary wonders.
The withering is so very beautiful.
Light on evening water,
a lake gleams,
too deep to be crossed,
by any ferryman,
Night no longer lures
beauty to turn away from its journey.
Life walks itself,
into a sublime uncertainty.
A beauty arises,
shorn of both fire or hope,
mercy flares upon a crumbling edge.
Revelations burn-on.
At the center of an undefeated love,
a path winds ever inward.
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