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The Seeds of Nightfall

Swift is nightfall’s
Accursed dagger
Draining
A full day’s glow

All for the good
Of her beloved
And devious young
In the care
Of her mothering shadow

Free
From the snarling
Blistering gleam
From the ravenous call
Of sunlit wrath

The wicked rave
With primal lust
As the silent drowse
Wearily
Indisposed, by savory dreams

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Slumped and Indisposed

I’ve lost every savory
Blistering urge
To thrive with a mindless
Cast-iron grin

Cyclones
Shield me
In vengeful grey

From all worldly spoils
Ever-promising
And ripe

Within the constant
Dust-laden breeze
My dreams disband
Into glittering remains

Only dulled verses
Prevail
Primed and ready
To fall
Dormant, cold and unsought

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Each Day’s Circular Decline

Just the same
My nerves are aquiver
Confined to their nests
Of turbulent skin

The arteries rage
Indignant
And bourbon deep

To snuff out
The fires
Of inner distress

Still I curse
With foolish vigor
Gleefully spilling
The gutter’s
Disgraceful refrain

Just the same
I fume so young
Mindlessly prowling
For a homeland’s
Most coveted of hopes

Just the same
My footsteps curve
To a circular whim
Laboring
To their maddening depths

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Bound for Northern Solace

As treetops covet
The autumn grey skies
I’d drowse
Into a long awaited calm

Drawing peace
In bound
For northern solace

And true
To the shoreline’s
Of home

Silence enshrouds
My every gripe
As time disbands
And all I know
Is coddled to rest

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Rightful Disdain

The fault thrives in me
Through and through
In each moment
I thieve
The slightest of gusts

Disorder
Rings in my name
In the words I spill
With young
And casual ease

Never mind
The passersby
The onlookers
Simmering
In their rightful disdain

For madness
Surely thrives
In this feckless stride

Aimed
For the call
Of solitary bliss

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Shroud of Self-Neglect

I’ve no truths to spare
From these caverns
Of self-neglect

Enshroud
By hatred’s
Devilish fumes

Where my words
Tread light
In a callous whisper

I’ve no truths to spare
From this low
This miserable hush

For all I bear
Are the  loathsome gripes
Of a fool awash
In the surf
Of his truth-bearing doubts