The New Beauty

The dead sun climbing sparks,
Gas-turned-crystal sprinkles shards,
Nostalgia-diamonds trailing light across the ocean.
The mirror worlds are falling from the midnight canvas,
Away instead of down.
Concussive hard-truths rally,
Encircling field-of-vision.
The Light-Father rounds the corner,
Letting his black tail-coats drape,
Keeping us still,
From fear-of-imagination.
The architects emerge with star-skin,
Crowned-with-freedom, taking hold of their lands,
Construct temporary castles too high,
Towering frailty held together with cohesive desire.
Lack-of-light flash-freezes the monuments,
Long enough to be caught by the regal eye,
And thrown away again,
With sun-rising melting away the mortar,
Of what-the-king-wants.
The auric-burn-expected rises over the border,
A moment before it’s always come before.
The constructs creak and sway,
At the will of their predictable conductor,
But falter for just a second longer,
Standing in the infinity they only-ever dreamed,
Before shattering from the shock,
Of the blue-green hue-blanket,
Washing over the night-cold ground,
Pushing away antiquated shades of yellow.

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