Metallic was the moment,
resembling nothing known,
that prison of uncertainty;
when you at last were gone.

Optimal the circumstance,
as I stood all alone,
future spreading teasingly;
your voice a distant tone.

Polished were excuses,
refined and readied now,
presented to the world,
but none defined the how.

In striking notes of memory,
in shining timbre sounded.
the best that I could hope for,
as something new was founded.

Optimal the circumstance,
polished were excuses,
metallic was the moment;
the path to unknown truths.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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