Deserted like the wharves at dawn

Visions held close through
the darkness of night
die with a rising light.

The truth burns cold,
in mourning mist,
obscuring a hope of day.

Distances remain to be seen.
Tired dreams ring
in forgetful ears.

Skeleton trees emerge from
skies that mock their
wiry, shivering frames.

Spinning worlds fall
back down to reality
with crunching leaves,

beneath feet as they
carry on in quiet desperation,
their constant state.

Visions held close through
the darkness of night
die with a rising light.

deserted-like-the-wharves-at-dawn

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