Lithic valleys laid bare, as craters of the mind,
In the age of iron and discovery, poured in rivers of
Flaring memories, under the hammer of Hephaestus, it became –
Excavated and exposed to the debilitating winds of uncertainty.
Before the lunar rising, the heartache was pulverizing, and the dust began,
Emitting a spectacle of jeweled amber and vermillion,
Glazing the tepid sky with hallucinations of hope, over the silver fingers of a
Immaculate fog, which drifted and rose, in woeful waves of reality.
Nomadic echoes bounded between the boulders and emptiness,
Shivering, as the auroras began their dance to the melodious doubt of dusk,
An antiquated moment in the hands of Chronos, tucked safely in the wings of the
Last and the lonely, to be pulled into an infinite revolving retrograde, with passion and
Obsidian blanketing the earth, in fragile flaws, which once held an insurmountable fear.
Nostalgic ghosts of sedimentary layers, buried in storms of slag, among monuments and
Enigmas, languishing in the floes and plains, where tempered Empires sleep.