At some point the ambiance of the dark, wears off.
And, you are left with complete ambivalence.
No passion for the ash.
In the distance, amassed above the ivory crests,
a supposed bloomed best.
Dreams-capes without imagination.
Nature’s starting line with particular designation.
Stilled wickedness, coming with heavy indignation.
Not a one or a two, hero.
Not a one or a two, villain.
But a village full of complacent combatants.
SAD in a shot glass.
SAD in a long winter’s nap.
SAD brindled tree trunks that have snapped.
Cold moments with drunken nursery rhymes.
Imbibed adieu’s bidding the SAD days,