Sonorous Winds of Ruin

False-Finality

Finally, in finality;
The punctuation to our motionless tire.
A paint so blank through /gloom and glum and\ endless sanguine fire.
Our wills unchanged,
Your rebuttal uncaged,
And my audience spoke vane:
"No more."
Their abstraction;
Go forth, oh grace.
Our, Their-they,
Each hour, to a day.
The divinity in these waters,
Can drown only the hate.
Our epiphany,
Not far from their revelations;
Yet None, stir with empathy.

"In this colorless sea, All is gone, for what never has been. And what never will, has now always been sin. Maybe but a flame, which has bare bones and no kindling; nothing can pertain to this perfect mending. Alas, everyone's penchant of a perfect ending."