by guest poet Corselena Ryan
As I wax lyrically in an agnostic fear,
the curtains drawn back with psychedelic gear
vagrant wisps of time pass through unhindered
dimensions unseen, yet somehow still kindred –
existence is now, yet perceived as the past;
the future penned in entropy, destined not to last.
Count blessings, not failures, for what shall we remember
as the last star dies, in a long-distant December?
Discover more from Wordflower
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Wordflower 