Let this day burn in memory film, etched in silver,
Let it sink in peatmoss memory bogs layered with fog,
Let it dry in Egyptian spice and sleep under a gilded mask,
Let the sun set on blazing waves, rolling over time’s arbitrary line,
where celestial sailors bottle the days last slivers of golden liquid. Stash
| the vintage in a cellar dark, a mind sealed with cork and wax, |
| then with age and passing years, when bitter tannins fade, |
| when the ghosts have gone with the swampy fumes, |
| and the contrast edges soften to an amber sepia, |
| pour a glass of days past, and taste nostalgia. |
| Let this day christen a ship of lines majestic |
| Let us sip every moment like it’s matter |
| Let it toast a union of days to come, |
| a mortal’s passage on Titanic. |
| Our days are numbered |
| the hour and minutes |
| and the seconds |
| to, will drain |
| away like |
| sand |
| | . | |
| When |
| the night |
| scales weigh |
| the heart within us, |
| comparing the slumber |
| mass of sand, don’t panic. |
| Days past are drunk and gone, |
| distilled to find days last here after. |
| All the waters evaporate, the pathetic |
| sediments are sifted. Proof is found at the |
| last day, judged with fire, filtered to fit in utopia. |
| Some days shrivel like raisins melt away under flame, |
| Some days sink with silt and get scraped away like scraps, |
Some days condense in fear before crosswinds blow away the ash.
Let the sun burn away, break the seal, and end arbitrary time,
Let the dry bones drink living waters blessed, this we ask,
Let ghosts of evil days pass away in the sight of God,
Let my dreams reflect His rays and praise day-giver
