Sky-Scraped Ruins
The evening fresh,
stars allure,
birthed- ground-breaking.
To look back, seems feeble
forward, Vigorous.
It is almost too late,
I have hollowed a place
for each hope I carried,
trickery twisted imagination.
The sky littered,
calling...all visions to death,
each cup of soil,
warmth
befriending faith with roses
daisies,
as I walk away,
nurtured.
There are no more stones-
upon stones,
upon stones,
only hours perhaps,
devoted.
Copyright © Angie Mae | Year Posted 2006
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