the great game

each
passing
beat slips
the wisdom of solitude
further
away,
consumed by fear, and
hope.

lessons
painted lovingly
or
cruelly seared,
all fade
under the silent passings
of nights inumerable.

a cold hardness
grants succour
until Dawn’s
golden smile brushes
past once again.

I collect Spores, Molds, and Fungus. View all posts by nomisyar

Originally published at http://thedeprevation.com on 28 November 2022