Setting Sun

A hollow memory to which I cling,
Happy moments, flickering light,
In the land of the golden sun,
That was where I remain but pure.

Sea of souls, land of eyes, hearts of darkness,
Treasured moments a kindred flame,
Burning endlessly away as tomorrow we forget,
About days of old and of course each other.

Within rustling bush, or jagged rock,
We shall however remain.
A loose cannon impulse,
Ending in nothing but agonising solemnity.

by Robert Kallend

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