amber and crimson

when it’s over
all of the poems, written
when clouded eyes set upon
the last
of the amber and crimson, diminishing
swallowed by swirling vermillion
fallen, into the dark sea
there is no right
no wrong, remaining
in this place
no judgement
found within
heaven’s earthbound whispers
there is only
what now is
and what once was
and the shadow-choir, silent
in the tall fields of the knolls
behind us
the gently swaying ashen souls
of what could have been

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