with nothing retained in this realm from casting shadows.
So slowly the dark took up residence within the pain
and gained prominence as poetry surrendered to prose.
Up rose the tumultuous dissatisfaction in uttered recurrence.
Not having heeded the maternal recommendation
THAT look did stick and melancholy gained permanence.
The time on the fence ended in faded sublimation.
An ethereal existence spent grasping at language
in absolute despair that this, the last bastion of salvation,
may be the necromancer’s single elixir to assuage
the lingering hint of hope which held him in his vexation.