fifty eight hundred embers

viewing the world
through the detached
retina of divinity
a land filled with
blurry misrecollections
in a haze of sleeplessness
the grasping hands of
doom fall defiantly to
smother the dreamembers
in a shower of sparks
briefly lending an air of
confused coherency
in distracted aggression
spinning silken cocoons
in hopes of waking anew
where verdant fields sway
with pollen thick winds
coating the distortion in
wildflower promises
beneath the watchful gaze
of sparrows and crows

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