The groans of every mourning
Play like the devil’s voice
Over each new day since
Narrating random moments
Backmasked color commentary
Leaking hues and leaving black
Segments of the panorama
The linear record of my days
Most resembles Morse code now
A golden landscape accented
By the full color spectrum
Turned dark
A precursor to the fall
Like autumn is to winter
Like a run to a crawl
Eventually frozen
But given to a thaw
Still spring’s palette is spotted
At best a faded photo recovered
From ashes of a house burnt down
The edges of the image singed
A memory discolored and curled
Further distorted each day
By smoke rising from fires
That still burn around me
While Living Water stands by
Biding His time

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