Loyd David Burt
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Apocalypse At The Gates Of His Imagination
He walked into the garden and gazed up into the sky
His face displaying melancholy, a tear formed in his eye,
And as the shadows lengthened the sun began to fade,
He slowly shook his head and sighed as he thought of the plans he’d made.
Lost in thought he stood there staring sightless, at the stars
His mind carried him through galaxies, transported him to Mars.
He rested on a rainbowed cloud that was full of morning dew,
And saw twin moons lying lazily in a dreamy sky of blue.
Way beyond the recumbent moons several horsemen he ...