dark autumn

the bitter, and the burn–
curl upon the craggy maroon
of a fool’s tongue
Oblivion’s warm ambrosia
its molten-pewter waves
washing over, flooding the voids
washing over
and then down, down, down
finding every burgundy-robed shadow
seeking, and then drowning each–
all the darkened benevolences
that a soul’s jag-stone cavern
might offer shelter, now spurned
I’d think this notion–
I’d think this a thing– a place
beyond my understanding
tho this place–
echoes its songs of home
neither a salvation, nor a damnation
both– small notions– and each, a perjury
finding their veneration, their devotion
within perpetuity’s gossamer-whispers
purgatory, the only world true
and I’ve been here before, love
aye, born here once, many lives ago
and many loves since passed– my first
tho, I’ve never departed
I’ve been here before, love
and the sunken-eyed faces
the leering audits of the reticent
the fringe-winged children
of the dark autumn
each, a voiceless despair
each, a diminution
my own

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