ANCIENT COLORS

ANCIENT COLORS

 

 

It was the last sign.  A crease in the weather

where the beginning blends into a final draw,

submitting to the curtain of seasons.

 

A pocket full of pressed parables circled

within the eventide of lost logic and

faded common sense.

 

The sky shouldered misted illusions casting

shadows onto the plains of wide deserts

and unnamed valleys.

 

We were overburdened with empty thoughts

hanging on the trellis of minced words

and half promises.

 

A campfire formed a veil of flames competing

with the coolness of an early night sky.  We

huddled close, warming our hands. Our eyes

reflecting ancient colors.

 

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