Umbral Ascension

Mon, 10/22/2018 - 22:58 -- th3m4g3

Upon the moonlit morrow,

gasps a breath,

faintly growing weaker.


If only tomorrow,

could pause in rue,

of Death's endless eager.


Fallen at last,

the soulless spirit

guided by the One.


Drifting to,

the holy darkness,

of Heaven's gates begun.





This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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