The gentle glow to guide the path.
Under a cotton tattered husk of night.
Burning embers singe the taste.
Set the brooding moan of earthly silence.
Crackling, grumbling stone.
Under footsteps that caress no set motion.
Gleaming windows aimed above.
Clearing the clouded judgement engraved in the home.
Humbled to the sweet empty.
Under the flow of atmospheric diction.
Plummeting further, no more.
For being here summons only innovation.