She escaped tomorrow,
Draping forever across auburn skies
Without standing on the precipice
Of blended emotions with an empty bottle,
Her pigmented relentless origins.
It’s strange how much you mean today,
Between the fissures and figments,
I didn’t think our worlds would collide
With nova flare and digressed phantoms,
Yet, there you are again!
The leaves turn golden fuchsia
With loves late hours, soon to be ghosts
And gracious memories,
In age he became what he always was,
Trepidation and embedded fate.
I see you in passing,
Washed with fire and future,
I am not so much for ritualistic haunts,
But, there is no escaping your past,
Growing old in tomorrows shades.
Poem © Phen Weston 2014