echoes
of times, now, so otherwise
reside,
resonant within walls
once
calling odes of hope,
foolish,
known then, as now, only
better,
ignored 
cosmic charity and golden
shackled,
collapsed in gravity,
concise catastrophe,
the ever-lasting aftermaths,
ground down to a 
dull ache,
mistakes 
claimed by the self-subscribed 
almighty.
hark. 
the old, exhausting harping
existentialism
ain’t got shit on thee…
insipid 
in reflections
course correction,
far too poorly timed,
late,
as in the obituary,
of the canary, all
carrion for
the unrelenting cynicism,
unsatiated 
despite the constant feeding,
perpetually receding, yet, 
never gone
wanton,
unwanted,
warranty guaranteed,
to
succeed 
in all this failure
tailor made squalor 
and wails,
despondent responding 
conspiring,
the veracity, sings, 
(sweet) and
not for I
inspires
motives everywhere but 
inside
derived,
all insidious glory,
salutations 
to all the revelations that
leave here, 
the must of pages 
decay, 
no, nothing stays,
all the golden, fights,
all dogged 
knights.