Twilight
The bluest of hours,
Half lit fingers and flowers,
Forage for insight
In the rarest of light,
Iron hearts heaving
The burden of
Memory leaves in
The presence of doubt,
Slowly but surely,
The infusion descends,
Hues of transition
Cannot be defended in
The monochrome twilight,
Auguring the anxious end.
Copyright © James Fredholm | Year Posted 2015
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