Dear Decadence

Dear decadence, 
in a universe of blank stares,
you are still the way i left you - 
shimmering visions of a gray wall
unveiled by an oil lamp.
Hope is still the shape of a coin on my palm...

Dear hope,
the lines on this palm 
lead to blind alleys
where faceless children laugh
under opiate twilight, 
leaving behind footprints in crimson

that'll be washed away again; 
And we'll pick off from where we left,
shedding our dreams
like leaves of another fall.
You? My muse - 
a demon dressed in rags
that clothe your nakedness
not your nudity.

Dear decadence, 
eternal yet never in the present,
our past is in sepia tint,
the present laments;
an empty flower vase sighs
and I
go down immaculate
to the funeral note of slate gray silence.