Then, slumber wrapped my brain in fog. The sun,
in hiding, shrouded black, escaped my reach.
Atop secluded heights it shone for others,
and while the cold of autumn fell on us,
struggling against the remnant light, this age
embraced abjection and condemned itself.
In arabesques, the plumes to heaven soared
from desolated lands, unseen, unwitnessed;
a numbing angst had done the work: all eyes,
once stabbed, had been replaced by made-up gems
for flayed survivors to forget their fall.
I'll somber into night head on. I'll carry
the sparks to keep the fire on. And through
darkness inform, I'll cut my way; and led
by crows, I'll climb the mounts toward the skies.
Once found, I'll mourn it, for it died—this sun.
댓글