The Storm: Epicinium

And the rain begins to fall.
Tidal rays and violet veil,
comes forth an inland call
and a semblance on the blue.
A pattered baptism as the dark builds
over lanterns of pallid hues
forming at my footsteps where
hardships and repose thrive.
I speak to the night in broken verse
until there is nothing left to say
and we’ve unwritten the words.
Howling with the haunters,
regaling with the haunted souls
flickering into substance
and drifting through the grave yard stones.

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