Justin Dowler

It arrives as the morning,
insidious, treacherous, and heartless,
laid out before me,
my shadow's own perilous and cruel design,
...

Yesterdays at desperation's door,
begging for my truth,
not that one, please,
for that one burns my heart,
...

...

The dissipating solace grows colder through absence,
like warmth underfoot slowly disremembering the sun as it encounters a solemn cloud,
left fruitlessly grasping for the heat that once burned,
the answer is knowing to search yet again, not for what's lost, much more mysterious, it's not yet revealed,
...

...

As the dark storm ambles painfully closer toward its familiar residence deep beneath the cage, even more desperation is revealed in the detail,

Haunting memories conjured of grandparents' terrifying dark, unkept garage. Secrets lurk among randomly created crevices among the shadows. Transformed by each drop of sunlight that sneaks past the darkness to reveal the endless memories not-so-carefully tucked away.
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