The Flinty Aisle


There is a new road leading to a new city
With red leaves from December
rambled in the candid truths of time
branches of tempting struggles
that grips time in hollow minds

Your scrawny voice, that rips through
my etherized face of memories
the slumber scent, that covers the road
in the anticipation of a silver spring.

These symbols of hypnotizied realities
Like a new floor of myth manufacturing
Words that pierce sharper than the silence
Dangling between the stillness of time

Hopes soaring uncertainly to nightfall
The dreams that have kept me awake
The beautiful imperfection of yours
I don’t have the courage to take new routes
I don’t have the heart to let you go

The crepuscule reconcilation of our souls
There is an inscrutable fusion
Of all the misery, the emotion , the trust
Some winged desire of dazzling dreams

We are however flawed in our own dread
like empty hushes of an abandoned house
Familiar, forgotten, a secret door to memories
That spilled in and out of the consciousness.

I garner the tinges of the sun and your condign glint
As in a vaporous hallowed place, our rituals fade
Would the misty light hear my moning prayers?
to let us grope our own glory once more.

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