Dark blue infinity,
Oh, falling luminesce fading into the twilight,
how you dance across the silent sand!
The horizon shines as liquid sun cools rose gold along the ferrous peaks,
Endless strokes weave drifting clouds into fast sleep.
The awesome silence of finality
marries the shadowed mountains
cradling the firmament.
Sound abandons the valley as the dark hides the skyline;
Sight fails.
Callous fingers tighten across
Folding arms in the still air,
Let your eyes fall towards the ground,
Exhale the crisp invisible end,
Lungs rush towards bursting
with the weight of closure as
day, possibility, light are
Erased into sublime black.
Let us lower upturned faces,
Count moments as descending
Grains of sand mark the hourglass'
rest. Time embraces former possibility, their hands entwining,
joining the downcast face now
grasped by the gorgon sorrow's snare.
Rise and fall, do our dreams and hopes, creaking ribs, shifting fabric, against the petrified chest engulfed in apocalyptic surrender.
Oh, talisman of Perseus,
Cursed for resisting cruelty,
Fated to suffer despite devotion, grace, and righteous indignation,
Medusa, terrible bearer of this same curse,
What fools are we?
What monstrous resemblance does the frozen fool now share with the ****** priestess' unfortunate victims still standing statuesque amidst the ruins of her world?
Stone-cold eyes blink endlessly,
The figure's petrified form bears the weight of starlight and the moon's temple.
Witness as futures unfold! Gaze, like Delphi's Oracle once did as man, future, and marble pillars become a singular spectacle.
What possibility shot into the heavens, now out of reach? What mortal joy falls at each day's end joining Helios and the sun elsewhere?
Call it tragedy! Some claim her despair! Oh Dante, how wickedly you call this nightmare a comedy,
Witness as the body discovers it's dream long-gone,
whispered about by lorekeepers and bards,
The vanguards of worlds such as this one,
Jolting skyward, his jaw clenches, glazed eyes turning,
Tumbling as his form reanimates,
Walk now into that abyss.
Called myth, utopia, inferno or sometime's paradisio,
All these too are visions of man,
- Which we may
Pursue but none come to obtain -
ever fading into the absolute silence
lain now to rest amidst
the chill of the desert breeze.