Evening Fall

The weight of whispered voices,
Burdens the sultry air,
Speckles of unclear delight,
Adorn our brittle hair.

Dawning misunderstandings,
Rise silently there,
And belittle the best of us,
Marked in our vacant stares.

The enamoured fires of civilisation,
Rage ardently, but bare,
In face of pale sunlight,
That absolves all despair.

A single noble bird,
Rides the wind in graceful dare;
Two paupers of tellurian birth,
Make a tender pair.

The mountains in the distance,
Lie still, and without care,
But those heavy-beating wings,
Are more than one can bear.

This resplendent evening fall,
Lingers on in moments most rare,
But has largely been forgotten,
And coaxed into Eos' lair.

My fleeting visions of patient darkness,
Were more lucid than the daily fare;
Steal from me my avid trifles;
My memory, repair.

As I sit now, distant and pensive,
Upon my faraway chair,
I wonder at that spectacle,
That, my thoughts, hath ensnared.

The End

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