The Impending Past

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Snow settles on white
Windowsills, unseen.
Blue, red, orange, green.
Glowing most luminary,
Projecting multihued
Gloom upon weather
Beaten flooring.
A crooked shack stood
Solely once to house
The feed.
Now, in existence only
To refuge the residential
Barn swallows.
And each night they soared;
Casting holes into the
Horizon as if to allow
The radiance of divinity
Himself to burst through
In silhouette over the
Panoramic earth.
As time floats by; unseen
Like snow settled on white
Windowsills,
Birds fly; pondering
Thoughts only of modern
Persistence and
Imminent fortitude.
They glide not intrigued by
Superficial arrangements
Of light splashed most
Softly upon weather
Beaten floorboards.
And while things
That once were are lost
Ceaselessly into the present,
Today hurries elegantly into
Yesterday in recollection
Of things that will always
Remain unseen to those
Who take flight overhead--

Tomorrow.





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