Anopisthograph Poem by Insignia Rose

An incendiary revitalization of an incandescent revival,

Is like an ode to sorrow.

Never to return.

It haunts the mind like a dull trickle.
It waters thee down, and keeps the mind fickle.

Burning bridges, and harvesting gold,
Why to do such unnaturally what is told?

Its cold stare perforates my soul.

Leaving holes of the what was once thought lost.

The roses are blooming,
This light is blinding.

A perfunctory mood indeed.

The twilight stars twinkle so bright, and their songs are left to be a sight; to see; to hear; to know so well.

Now what is this jumble of words and meaning?

Not even I know.

It is just the compilation of madness and a mind gone wrong.

Or maybe the mind has just wandered and lost that path from hence it started.