No Title
In fruitless tradition,
to kneel at the redingote of memory,
in this garden of loss and souls,
an insoluble desire to court heartache.
To renew a dark corner of the heart,
like a half burned candle that we labor to reignite,
through the bitter ephemeral winds of time.
But only illuminate that which will never be again.
Copyright © D William L | Year Posted 2017
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