ChromaticA Poem by PerditionOut here, on the fossil edges, where we pass the hums and moaning of the iron rails, the early birds settled into song, tripping over the laces of some highway, our faces barely in tune. You take a strand with strings burned to gold, you wear the darkness down to its humble, and all that was breath disappears. The light closes, words by word we are stolen, broken with our evolution and may it never recover its choice to be sealed in these wings. Still, somewhere along the stage I stagger to remember Pythagoras, but how can I remember his name when my lungs are free from disregard~ © 2023 PerditionReviews
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3 Reviews Added on February 3, 2023 Last Updated on February 3, 2023 |