Every Footstep Poem by Peter S. Quinn

Nothing's forever eternally here
Yesterdays will go in to its lost sleep
What you thought extinct might though be close near
With each bouquet of true fewness to keep
Fallen walls with ashes remnants and ruins
Flowers between the steaming and burning
Each turbid morning of lives misdoin's
Digest of times between and turning

Every footstep in to the nonbeing
To the artillery of cloudy shade
Faces of hollow smoldering desire
To a new future of ways foreseeing
Never your option - but what from it's made
Ignite the fields of tomorrow's new fire