Days have fluttered by frittered by. Yet there is still a hollow scream. Flickered with a sigh.
The wholesome dream
Shadowed by the incredulous nightmares. Of a darkened and bewildering summers night
Harboured happiness desired in prayers. That the shadows will be conquered by the light
That memories recede in favour of a bountiful present. That reminiscing becomes opalescent and expiates contentment. As the moon is never full, when I look at least it is a crescent.
That time ticks by without a shaking and shambled resentment.
For anger resides in a man left under the stars that glisten. And remembrance of the night and the trajectory of an unholy mission.