passing by
the ghosts of yore
was emptiness
permitting
patrons
of a spent desire
did linger in their midst
the phrases
spoken long before
apprised me of such plight
through the semblance
they would know
no more
upon a stolen night
i held them
by my burdened breath
to stave off death’s advance
if only for the chance
to be a voice
that once was heard
the truth of life
each rung
unsung
a presence
to remain
no person can outrun
the perils
spun on paths we paved
what followed me
i cannot say
yet save
for what was seen
the moment
i could not awake
they passed me by
in dream
Max, or Not 