It is not your abyss that shadows my light,
  it is the volume of massive regret.
Hope bleeds through the hollow.
Fractions give way to absolution and sorrow.

Orion is dead,
 yet is born again.

I pretend not to notice the cataclysm.
I pretend not to be afraid.
In the absence of warmth, i shudder,
 and follow the river of melting stars.
Through the eye of syncronicity and the onyx glow,
 into the shifting blight, i flow.

I miss your soul enlightened with jewels.
I have misplaced all your shimmering gold.

Wake me up in the antiquated winter.
Lend your voice to my vacuum of rhyme.
and maybe in time we will sing again,
 and adorn the fabric of time.


Troy Allen Bull  6.11