PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Time, the great beacon of hope has died.
We mourn her elusive grace on the beginning of this night.
Driving in the fog along the highway,
Heartbeats reduce in rate to seal fate.
The rising mass culls viscosity shrouding from the rivers;
Oncoming cars project bright halos ringing from front lights.
Each careful to see their way forward, holding onto the last of existence.
Like ships sailing in the distance burning flags to signal shoreline.
The wailing of bells and the clanking of the executioner's boots seeps out from the land.
And with each passing car, the thoughts of love can't hurt me anymore.
I hear the delicate keys of the piano; from every piece of music I knew.
For once a clear spot shows us mercy and I can see the pastoral so barren and muddy.
Vultures gather in the now clear emerging night sky, or is it just dirt floating in the eye?
Spreading to the edge of the world an invocative plea to return to me what can never be.