fragments of wings
    in a shattered dawn
left colourless
    by yesterday's dusk

a bleeding brush
    across the narrow canvas
black and white
    and red, yet hidden

truths were turned to dust
    and the gold to rust
the last of it ripped away
    like printer paper

is this how emptiness sings?
    we covered the fields
we picked all the flowers
    and left our souls a void

so how can we stay?
    and tell me, how did they?

•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•◦•