Once Callow...

.

Flush with anger,
Torn with fear,
He sits in wait
and spells, for air,
Celestial duress.

Pocket knives,
Flashed cards,
Skin a second time;
They allow him
a brave front
and simple
brushed strokes,
Replacements in
discourse.

Blurring vision
solidifies an
ersatz mosaic,
Eres on the side
of caution,
And reveals Her,
Star-crossed,
Legs folded,
Pewter heart aflame,
Intrinsic to the breadth
of firmament.

Fire or release?
The motive soul
was to decide then,
Rejecting senescence,
Living antiquity with
a memory of light,
The height of
the welkin would
contain him no longer,
He passed the
eleventh hour
and, as he took in his hands
the eternal desired,
Erupted in the glorious
flame of ubiquity.

The End

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