In a waning light
a painting from a faded memory .
I burned from despair and
failure of imagination.
wondering when the sun
went down on me .
a barren field ,
a leafless forest
climbing a lawless ladder .
in my eye a rose burns .
perculating just below the
surface ready to blow
the sound of a Lyre .
Taking a a glimpse into the
shadows of self doubt
and indecision .
that creek of purest sorrow
smelling of musky soil or semen .
dank dark wine
bites my tongue
I taste the mask
of fury carved in stone.
A dead fall
felled in a time
not of this age
covered in lichen ,
insects and vines .
do we
must we
hold every moment
sacred ?