searching for words

greyed out opinions for greyed out facts,
a letter in the mail lost in the approaching storm;
at the edge of the globe
the end looks far too close.

shaking hands on bloody pen, mightier than thou
a halo of smoke sits around shoulders
that have carried mock saviors,
vintage lies, and modern excuses
in a grasping attempt for something mellifluous

we are not statues of marble
nor babes of an ancient,
in the recesses of our chests
is hiraeth,
waiting for its epoch to be written

nothing is out of reach,
we are at the carfax
one and all
there is no epiphany
do not let our denouement
be one of a stranger’s wanderlust.

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