A silicon waterfall drifts snowy shreds
through a blazing doorway unto the hospital floor
despondent nobodies look up from gloom
diaster spelled over furrowed brows
Hope glimmers for a few nutured by those peregrins or men
Will help reach? Is time through?
Can we even leave, even though there's nothing to do?
But the wise man eyes always are focused on what must be
The greenland flows as praire dreams do
the procession has long since flowed
one daughter stays scrutinizing a mystery
She tilts her back and laughs full bodied and rapturouslessly
This glea does not subside the bleak winter braught
Yet still this sentient feeling spells the end and redeems a magnificent future.
(Comments/Criticism always welcomed)
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