therighter

The ashes of a sweet wonder tree With a foothill of the falling Swept through the river of yesteryears Slyly ushered into the depths of blue   Walking past the summer homes The slight rise of the rustic leaves An Indian afternoon in the island of hope All the twigs crackling to a touch of fiery   Those who burn in wanton of warmth By the rolls of endless yearns Must be the notes that one hears as the midnight scream When every aspiration draws the faded line   Lasting rails over the pebbled roads Dreamily running into the paragraphs of troubled lives Nested into the wilderness of the forgotten Sharing a laugh with the faint muse in hiding   Barren with the longevity of closing time An inner cadaver going up the stairs This was an end thought to be pure Of all the mistakes that were never proved