Illusions in Shadow

Ron Koppelberger

Ilusions in Shadow

The evolution of divine amusements and ancestry defined in calling flocks of dark flight, in silhouettes done gray, flittering by the cloak of a shaded crescent moon, the wind cried welcome borne errant by the suns sleeping conference, with the edges of a frayed twilight and a blood red dawn. Strange, near presumptions in velvet evanescence, by the bond of night and day, a jealous idea stealing a dream of tomorrow. With an illusion of flame and starlight, of ashen embers and velvet blankets sheltering the boughs of oaken cradles and blossoms nocturnal, a primal desire in darkness, secret. An illusion bought sure by the promise of a tear tasting sweetly of loves affinity for devotions in times passing essence.
The souls of passionate gods and exotic dares of contention, the rare wine adorned in the dew of a shadow hidden in the midst of darkness and illusion. An hourglass turned sideways almost ending the breath of a silent whisper with the dare of a seconds pause all in illusion, the sweetest illusion of immortality and the distance between here and there, the measure of what we hold in a moments rest and the advent of another dream.