Passé

It was a grand castle lost to the time
of Louis thirteen, a sunset blushing
forever forgetting every window
in the distance transforming
into furnaces; only embered umber
remembering the roof disappearing
into sunking sunrays when

Before our eyes there stretched
ancient glories slaughtered and tossed
into the corners, covered by half coated
ivies; the water angels sitting on gray
pedestals in dreary winter, the sun
itself the marble fire upon them
resting on the big pond sleeping
in lonely lakes; reeds hiding
the water eating away at the earth

Sometimes wandering in forests
of regret like beautiful deer seeking our
hunters who each are alone until
Both angels and hunters, hands intertwineed
walking happy, proud silently treading
snow grasses, looks exchanged, mixing
as one each breath, each thought bursting
into eclipsed splendor as the sun descends
behind the horizon; Venus sighing
rising over us as night
falls silent and fading all histories

©Ionwhite

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