The sun filters through most everywhere,
At one time or another. Yet, the sheer
Concomitance of their pasts' shadows
Conforming, confirm their dance of dark, light
Is only a vilification of potentialities
Draped by empty eyes, osmosing, seen
In their bodies slow, though steady, decay.
Watching the grey never leave their eye,
There came a whispering, why?
Were the saplings struck dumb?
Was their thirst only offered acid rain?
Has gradation left such a hole in its wake?
When meanings are unfelt thus trod thoughts,
Ergo, they're histories' facade.
While not forgetting it takes two to tango,
And still loving, I lend m