Day Thirty-five – Grace falling

I hear the hollowed
whispered sighs,

it sounds like grace is falling.

The virtues of morality,
but I hark embers roaring.

This empty crimson tide of tone
has enveloped this life,

a temple of abundant glow
once silver, now red light.

A reflection of a forgotten esprit
dwells and echoes in a shrine,

a crypt of beauty
from yesteryear,

resonates forgotten in time.

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