Reliquary – A.P. Christopher (constant Variable)

In the wake of what we plan
Where nothing grows and nothing can
And all the acres left between us
Span the world and what they mean was
Every tiny piece of worth we feared to ever feel was left to die

Slow and slim – a sallow crest
And labored lungs in hollowed chest
That uttered something named redemption
In a world too dark to mention
Speaking still of here and now and there and then but never you or I

Or the words we thus divorce
With tilted heads and missing force
That slip between the vacant chances
That we claimed were circumstances
Moving with a wind that we could never hope to change unless we try

Something more than grains of care
And guarantees of “I’ll be there”
For what we mean, we say a fraction
Calling love an old attraction
Resting on a lonely road where stoically we just pretend it didn’t hurt to know we passed it by

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