Darkening, Cold Mysts 1.0

The rain was cold and dead while time fell in every word said nothing left out to be or become black and white asphalt glare without sun December set death though mist wrapping itself like glass around branches cloud’s anomie left to itself passes through nowhere closed even to wealth If the dead were lost on the ice where darkness isn’t an afterthought time would be equally stranded in shadows that wouldn’t feel A solitary spark a feeling of animation in the distance farther and colder, more wet and forgotten less than forgetfulness, as if it never was Human wickedness the challenge can’t blame God for that through open doors to wars for more given free will he finds a thrill to kill.